Blunt Force

by Lynda La Plante

  She closed the door and went back down the stairs to look in the master bedroom. Pushing open the door she was astonished at the size of the bay window-fronted bedroom. It had a thick, pale green fitted carpet and one of the largest super-king-sized beds she had ever seen, with an ornate carved headboard. It was draped in a green satin canopy with a selection of green silk and velvet throw pillows. The large windows had silk white and green striped drawback curtains, and a chaise longue was also covered in the same fabric.

  The artwork on the walls were Erté fashion magazine copies, and the whole room had a feminine elegance about it. Fitted wardrobes covered two walls and Jane looked enviously at the shelves of pure cashmere sweaters, sorted by color and folded as if on display at Harrods. One wardrobe contained evening wear and furs, and the other had a selection of shirts, jeans and trousers.

  Jane put on some latex gloves, then knelt down to check through all the shoes stacked neatly at the bottom of the wardrobe. As if thrown randomly into the mix was one white Adidas trainer, left foot, size six. It was quite well-worn and she checked the sole for bloodstains but found none. Jane immediately placed it in an evidence bag. She searched the wardrobes in the hope of finding the right shoe but couldn’t locate it. The laundry basket only contained underwear and a night dress.

  The en suite bathroom had tiles that matched the color of the carpet. Unlike the family bathroom, this was very modern and had two wash basins, a sunken bath and an elegant glass-fronted shower.

  Beside the basins there were toothbrushes, toothpaste and face cloths. Jane discovered some standard Bic disposable razors, but not a cut-throat one. There were medications in the mirror-fronted bathroom cabinet and she took out her notebook to list the names of all the prescriptions, including Nembutal, Librium and Valium. There were also herbal menopause capsules, migraine tablets and an entire shelf of vitamins. Jane shut the cabinet, frowning to herself. Apart from the medication and the trainer, there was nothing in the master bedroom that could possibly be relevant to the investigation.

  She went across the landing towards a door leading to the other bedroom, leaving the evidence bags on the floor beside her handbag as she opened the door. Nothing could have prepared her for what was inside. The size of the room was on a par with the master bedroom, but it was very dark as the heavy red velvet curtains were drawn. The velvet color matched a thick fitted carpet and there was an overpowering musty odor.

  Jane eased herself further into the room, trying to accustom her eyesight to the darkness while she searched for a light switch. When she turned it on, an elaborate chandelier lit up the room, revealing a large double bed that looked as if someone had just thrown the sheets aside. A crumpled duvet lay half on the bed and half on the floor. To the left of the door was a bank of recording equipment, stereo equipment, and the biggest television screen Jane had ever seen. The room had floor-to-ceiling bookcases, which held hundreds of audio tapes and video cassettes. On the bedside tables were open bottles of Perrier with some dirty glasses. A half-empty bottle of whisky stood on the floor next to the bed. Jane bagged the bottles for fingerprint examination to see if Foxley’s, or those of anyone as yet unknown to them, were present.

  It felt very eerie, as if at any moment the occupant would walk in. Jane looked in one of the wardrobes, which contained men’s evening clothes, an array of expensive suits and shoe racks full of loafers and ankle boots. Another wardrobe was completely filled with pristine cotton shirts and on the shelving units were underwear, sweaters and socks. Dirty clothes had been thrown aside on the floor beside the bed, including jeans, T-shirts, scuffed trainers and dirty underwear. There was nothing bloodstained, but she bagged the pillow and bed sheets to be examined for pubic and head hairs that didn’t match Foxley’s. She then looked at the desk. There were many rolled-up bank notes and she knew from previous work that they more than likely had been used to snort cocaine. There were small packets left conspicuously on the desk, along with stacks of scripts and more dirty drinking glasses. She took the bank notes and glasses and bagged them for fingerprint analysis at the lab.

  The search was beginning to make her feel nauseous as it was obvious that this was where Charles Foxley had spent a lot of his time. Jane began to open the drawers in the desk, removing documents and photographs to sort through. She found some hardcore pornographic magazines with men and women having sex; from the writing, she guessed they were from Germany, though she knew they could be purchased in the seedy porn shops of Soho. She heard the sound of laughing. It made her jump and she hurried out of the room onto the landing. She could hear Justine’s voice, accompanied by her high-pitched girlish laugh. Jane moved silently down the stairs and stood outside the drawing room listening. Justine was recounting a funny anecdote that had occurred on a movie set.

  She doesn’t sound very fragile now, Jane thought wryly.

  She returned to the master bedroom to collect the bags of evidence. There was still no sign of an end to the discussion in the drawing room, so after some hesitation she knocked and opened the door. Miller glanced up at her, clearly irritated, with a large photo album on his lap. Justine was sitting with her feet up on the coffee table, smoking a cigarette. She turned in surprise as Jane entered.

  ‘Are you still here?’ she asked.

  Jane nodded and looked to Miller. ‘Would you like me to remain here? Or shall I return to the station?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Good God! I didn’t realize the time. We should be leaving.’ He put the tape recorder in his briefcase and stood up. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the time you have given me, Ms. Harris. You have been very accommodating and I’m sure what you told me will be very helpful. And if we need anything further, I hope you will agree to see me again?’

  Justine stood up and flicked the ash of her cigarette onto the carpet. ‘Yes, of course. Actually, I’ve rather enjoyed our conversation. I think it was beneficial for me too.’

  Jane couldn’t believe it. It was as if she had interrupted a couple of friends having afternoon tea together.

  Justine went over to an ashtray and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I feel so bad. You haven’t been offered any refreshments.’

  ‘That wasn’t necessary,’ Miller said.

  ‘I have made a list of all the items I have removed and placed in evidence bags,’ Jane said, tearing a page from her notebook and handing it to Justine, who barely glanced at it. Jane looked to Miller before turning back to Justine. ‘Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?’

  Justine gave one of her soft laughs. ‘Well, that is very sweet of you, my dear, but Lucas and I have been discussing personal things all afternoon, and I can’t believe there’s a question I haven’t already answered.’

  Miller gave Jane a quizzical look as she referred to her notepad.

  ‘Ms. Harris, I noticed that your husband’s bed appears to have been slept in quite recently. It would help if you could clarify when he last slept here.’

  Justine shrugged. ‘Oh God, I’m trying to remember. Maybe a week or so ago? I have already told you he was a frequent visitor, but please do not imagine for a moment that I continued to have a sexual relationship with my ex-husband.’

  Miller appeared eager to leave, but Jane wasn’t finished.

  ‘Also, I know you have a young Filipino cleaner working for you. Does she also do your laundry?’

  ‘My laundry?’ Justine started to sound irritated. ‘Yes, she does my washing. We have a very good machine.’

  Jane held up her pencil. ‘I’m sorry, I meant the bed linen?’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s all sent to the laundry.’

  Jane persisted. ‘Including your ex-husband’s?’

  Justine sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  Jane closed her notebook as Justine approached and touched her lightly on the arm.

  ‘I hope I’ve answered all your questions.’

  ‘Yes, you have, thank you,’ Miller said with an unctuous smile, ushering Jane t
owards the door.

  Jane nodded her thanks. ‘Mr. Henson said that if you need him, you are to call him.’

  Justine walked them to the front door. She watched Jane and Miller get into the patrol car, then closed the front door. She stood there, her hand still on the door, as if frozen.

  Then she suddenly started screaming.

  ‘You two-faced little shit in your fucking pink shirt! You cunt! You bastard!’

  She closed her eyes and took two deep breaths.

  More calmly, she said to herself, ‘You fooled him . . . you fooled him completely. You are such a good actress . . . you are so clever.’ She smiled. ‘He really has no idea.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The return journey to the station was tense. Miller asked exactly what Jane had removed from the house and she passed him her notebook, where she had duplicated the list given to Justine Harris. He flicked through the pages and held it over his right shoulder to pass it back to her.

  ‘Take everything to the forensic lab and get them working specifically on the blood and drugs. DS Lawrence will forward them to Toxicology.’

  Jane put the notebook back into her bag. ‘There was something odd about the bedroom that Charles Foxley had been using,’ she said. ‘There was a dank smell to the room, as if he had only left the bed that morning. I did remove the sheet and a pillowcase for traces of human hair, and a number of items for fingerprinting—’

  ‘Yes, yes. I can read!’ snapped Miller.

  There was a long pause before Jane spoke again.

  ‘Unless his ex-wife had been sleeping in the room? She may have been using the drugs, which, from the rolled-up bank notes, I’m certain was cocaine.’

  Miller did not respond. He tapped the driver on the arm. ‘I want you to drop me at the station, then take DS Tennison to the laboratories in Lambeth.’

  Jane would have liked to ask him how his interview with Justine Harris had gone, but decided it was not worth getting another reprimand.

  *

  DS Gibbs and DCI Collins had spent an hour with Tyler, discussing the finances of Foxley’s agency.

  Collins gestured to the documents they had accumulated. ‘With regard to the list that James Myers gave to DS Tennison and DS Gibbs, the inquiries to date have come up with nothing.’

  Tyler sifted through the documents. ‘Dear God! It’s unbelievable! This eighteen-year-old actress is earning for six weeks’ work more than I will in a lifetime.’

  Collins shrugged. ‘That’s showbiz for you, sir! There was one area that was financially insecure and that was this new venture Foxley started up about nine months ago. A young lad, Simon Quinn, is running KatWalk and contracting sports stars for promotional photographic work. But it’s barely covering the costs of the boy’s salary, and Foxley had been putting in money in the hope that they could turn it around.’

  Tyler sighed. ‘Anything else?’

  Spencer raised his hands. ‘I know we’re still waiting on the toxicology results from the victim. Based on his manner and the pace he seems to be working, I suspect Daniel Bergman might be using cocaine. I took the opportunity to put it to him, and he denied it, but he inferred Emma Ransom may possibly be a user.’

  Tyler tapped the table with his pen. ‘Well . . . ’ He hesitated. ‘Let’s wait for the toxicology report to come in from the lab, then we can go back and have another interview with her.’

  Collins stood up. ‘That’s me done, Lenny. I need to get a flight to the Bahamas and get my sunglasses out. In my honest opinion, I don’t think the motive for this murder was money. As I said, Foxley was a big earner but the others were catching up. Only one person benefits from Foxley’s death, and that’s his ex-wife.’

  *

  DCI Tyler had yet again been caught driving into the station yard by three journalists. He had already radioed in to say he was arriving so that the double gates would be open, but he was forced to wait as one camera flashed in his eyes and another journalist shouted to ask if there was an update or any news.

  Tyler put his hand on the horn and blasted it continuously, shouting at them to get away from his car. The gates opened and he drove inside.

  Tyler was now in a foul mood as he made his way towards the incident room. It was becoming a daily occurrence with the persistent group of press waiting at the gates into the station yard. Even though he gave the station prior warning of his arrival, the ineptness of some of the probationary officers never ceased to amaze him.

  Entering the incident room, he looked over to the team who were all at their desks, then went straight into his office and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Miller’s head appeared over the partition, then quickly disappeared. He was using the departed DI Arnold’s coveted corner desk and had acquired a further screen around it for privacy. He was working with the FBI agent Harry Bellamy, who was listening intently to the tapes Miller had recorded during his interview with Justine.

  As the tape was turned on and off, Jane was working at her desk and could clearly overhear. It was making it hard for her to concentrate as Bellamy constantly asked Miller to replay a section of the tape, stopping, rewinding, listening. The two men had been closeted together for almost as long as it had taken for the interview. It was coming up to five p.m. when they finally went in to discuss their conclusions with Tyler.

  Jane gestured to Spencer, asking if he would like a cup of tea, and together they went up to the canteen. As they waited in line for their tea and a fresh cheese sandwich for Spencer, Jane was holding the empty tray.

  ‘I suppose you know about the Adidas trainer, the one found in Justine’s wardrobe?’ Spencer said. He moved along the line to the cashier, picking up two Kit-Kats. ‘Apparently DS Lawrence is almost certain it would be a match to the bloody right footprint they lifted from the murder scene.’

  Jane carried their now-full tray to a table.

  ‘It’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it? I mean, why keep one trainer and not the other? Why not get rid of them both?’

  ‘Reality is, Spence, there were bloodstains all over her coat, too. Everyone knows that she was at the murder scene and she could quite easily have stepped in the blood while she was there.’

  ‘Then why did she get rid of the blood-stained trainer?’ Spencer asked.

  Jane shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It was all quite weird at the house. Everything seemed really normal at first. In the drawing room, the lovely kitchen, in the master bedroom . . . then I opened the door into the room Foxley must have been using and it was horrible. What was really freaky was that it was as if he had just tossed the duvet back. There was an indentation on the pillow and in the mattress, as if he had just got up and left. I asked her when her ex-husband had last been there and she couldn’t give me an exact date.’

  Spence drained his coffee cup. ‘Well, she may have been sleeping in there. He’s been dead four days now, which brings me to no weekend leave.’

  ‘How’s everything with your wife?’ Jane asked.

  ‘She hasn’t changed the locks, but we’re supposed to be sitting down to talk to the in-laws tonight. So, it’s either going to be “pack your bags”, as they bought the flat, or try and make us go to marriage counselling.’

  ‘Are you prepared for that?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Counselling? Yeah, I don’t mind. Right now I could probably use some. I’m in two minds about my career. That Collins bloke is very thorough, used to discussing finances and knows what he’s doing. I sat in on the interview with the accountant at the firm and I felt like a spare prick at a wedding.’

  Jane looked around the canteen and leaned closer. ‘Have you heard what exactly happened with Tim Arnold?’

  ‘I heard that he was out watering the window boxes at the front of the station, stepped back to admire his blooms, fell off the pavement and a cyclist ran him over.’

  Jane shook her head. ‘Ha ha. Very funny. I heard he was with the guv at the murder site and complained of feeling ill. I think
Tyler had just about had enough of poor old Tim’s stomach ailments and there were a few unpleasant words.’

  Jane was about to get up and order another coffee when Gary Dors came into the canteen. ‘The guv has asked for everyone to be at a briefing at six p.m.,’ he said after spotting them.

  Jane hurried from the canteen and returned to her desk to finish off her report. She was printing out copies when the FBI agent came and stood beside her.

  ‘What is your opinion of Justine Harris?’ Harry Bellamy asked softly.

  ‘My opinion?’ Jane replied, confused.

  ‘Yes, what do you think of her?’

  ‘Well, I have talked to her on two occasions and found her to be very pleasant and quite helpful, but I couldn’t really give you an honest opinion as I haven’t spent enough time with her.’

  Bellamy turned and leaned against the side of the printer, his hands in his pockets. ‘That’s all you’ve got to say?’

  ‘Yes. I really haven’t spent enough time with her to give a fuller assessment. I do know from conversations with the people at her ex-husband’s agency that she had a temper and could be very difficult. But, as I said, she seemed very amenable considering the appalling situation.’

  Bellamy nodded. ‘Well, good luck. I have to return to Oxford tonight. But I’ve given DI Miller a character study from the tape recordings.’ He moved away slightly, before turning back to Jane and looking down at her. ‘You may find my conclusion interesting.’

  Jane stacked the papers from the printer. ‘Oh, yes?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m aware that in the UK, criminal profiling is not seen as particularly relevant, but eventually time will rectify that. In my estimation it is, and will continue to be, essential in all murder investigations.’