by Sarah Flint
‘Mr Barton, I haven’t said anybody’s done anything yet.’
‘You can call me Mickey. But you told me on the phone that a body had been found that you believe may be my wife and that it wasn’t an accident or suicide. So that only leaves one thing that it can be; murder. So have you any idea who’s killed her?’
‘Mr Barton. Mickey. It’s far too early to know that. We still have to formally identify her and there will have to be a post-mortem to establish the cause of death.’
‘So you don’t know how she died?’
‘No, not yet.’
Charlie watched the man with curiosity. She couldn’t work out what was going on inside his head. He was obviously emotional but was trying to cover up any perceived weakness, showing them he was a macho mechanic. Only girls cry! That sort of thing. But why? Maybe he was just incapable of showing his true feelings; maybe he was trying to find out any possible suspects on whom to get revenge. Maybe it was to cover any involvement he might have? Or maybe, after their recent split, he just didn’t care. Or cared too much.
Whatever the case, she couldn’t read him yet. And she usually could. She would normally get the measure of a person within minutes of meeting them.
Hunter, too was obviously being careful what he said. He turned the question round.
‘Have you any ideas who might want to cause your wife harm?’
Mickey Barton stretched up and scratched the top of his head with both hands, then looked at his nails, as if checking there was nothing nasty on them. ‘No, to be honest I can’t. Everybody always seemed to love her. She has lots of friends in lots of places. She works as a teacher in the local Academy and gets on well with her colleagues. Even the kids seemed to like her.’
‘Was she married before she met you?’
‘No, she was single. Susan Roberts when I first met her, but Susan Barton ever since; the love of my life: and I of hers.’
‘So, no previous partners that might be out to get her?’
‘None, just me, her and the family.’
‘That’s nice. Does she have other interests or hobbies?’ Charlie asked, wanting to see how he reacted to her.
He continued to look towards Hunter.
‘Well, apart from her career, she goes to church and helps out on various committees and women’s groups, visiting sick and disabled people in the area. Personally, I don’t have much to do with that sort of stuff these days. I used to, when I was younger, but I’ve grown up.’
‘And there’s no one at the church or in the various groups she works with that might have any reason to want to hurt Susan?’
Barton appeared to freeze momentarily at the mention of his wife’s name, before shaking his head. ‘Not that I can think of, but then you do get some pretty weird people in schools and churches. Crack-pots. They don’t think the same as the likes of us.’ He nodded towards Hunter again. ‘Do you know what I mean? You know, us, we just get on with life, go to work to make a living, eat, sleep, watch a bit of footie when we get the chance. Some of that lot at the church or in schools walk around with their heads in the clouds. They think they are above us.’
‘You didn’t get on well with her friends then?’ Charlie was determined to elicit a response. ‘Emma mentioned that you’d recently split from your wife.’
Barton closed his eyes momentarily, before turning to face her for the first time, his expression closed. ‘It was only temporary. It was an age thing. Lots of women go through it, so I’m told. Kids left home. Nothing to do. I was working on it. She would have changed her mind and had me back. It was just a matter of time. She loved me, but yeah, her friends didn’t help. Some of them at the school egged her on, they wanted her to get the key back, but it’s my house too. And anyway we would have worked through it. She loved me and I loved her.’
He stopped, his voice breaking slightly, and walked across the kitchen, looking up at a large gold framed photo on the wall. The photo had obviously been taken at a restaurant on a summer holiday. Mickey stood at the back wearing a white, open-necked, short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, exposing a raft of blond, downy hair. One arm was slung territorially round the shoulders of a woman, slim and willowy, with long blonde hair, wearing a lilac, floral, loose fitting dress. She appeared slightly off balance as if he was pulling her towards him. His other hand rested on the shoulder of a young boy stood in front of him, the spitting image of Barton himself, with blond, tousled hair. Emma was next to the boy, her arm reaching up across her body to hold the hand of the woman in the lilac dress, whose other hand in turn, rested on her shoulder.
‘That’s us on holiday about eight years ago in Spain. That’s Susan. She’s a real beauty, isn’t she?’ He pointed to the woman standing next to him in the photo. Charlie had recognised her instantly anyway. Their victim was definitely the same woman as in the photo, just a little larger and with shorter hair.
She nodded. ‘Yes, she looks lovely.’
‘And that’s Mickey Junior. He’s a good boy; he’s just been accepted on to the first team, playing football for his uni. He’s clever too.’ He pointed towards the young girl. ‘And you’ve met Emma of course.’
Mickey was gazing at the picture. Charlie watched him as he did so. He was the man of the house, the provider, the alpha male and they were all his possessions, the fruit of his labours. How difficult must it have been for him to have his wife say she didn’t want him anymore; that she wanted to make a life without him, after everything he’d done? How might he have reacted to her decision, particularly if his efforts to get them back together were not working? But at the same time, he clearly loved them all deeply.
There was a knock at the back door. Charlie went and opened it to find Emma standing on the doorstep.
‘Where’s my dad?’
‘He’s here. Come through, we’ve nearly finished.’
She led Emma through to join them and the girl’s eyes immediately fixed on the same photo, filling with tears as they flicked between the image of her mother and herself. She wiped at them with the side of her hand. The family unit was gone, her mother taken from her in the most appalling manner. How would she ever cope with the knowledge of how she had died?
Hunter checked his watch. ‘We’ll give you some time together for a few minutes, but I’m afraid we’ll need to search the house for anything that might help us find out what happened. Just one thing though. Do you know if Susan still wore her wedding or engagement rings? We believe they may have been stolen.’
Emma nodded. ‘I think she still wore her wedding ring, but sometimes she took her engagement ring off. I know where she kept it in her bedroom. I came in recently and saw her with it. I’ll have a look.’
Charlie followed her as she ran off upstairs. The bedroom, as with the kitchen was messy; a pile of clothes lay on a chair folded untidily, cupboard drawers left ajar, the duvet lying askew on the pillow. An assortment of face creams, make-up and perfume were scattered across the top of a chest-of-drawers and the smell of Chanel Coco infused the room. She watched as Emma carefully peeled back some clothing on the shelf of a wardrobe.
‘It’s not here,’ she said, her voice faltering.
They returned to the kitchen and Emma started to cry again.
‘She must have been wearing it because I can’t see it in her usual place. She said that she wanted me to have it when she... died. Now she’s gone, and it’s gone too.’
Mickey put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his body. Again it looked a little awkward, but at least he seemed to be trying.
‘We’ll need to be going now.’ Hunter drew the conversation to a close. ‘Do you have somewhere you can stay for the time being?’
Mickey nodded. ‘I’ve my own flat just around the corner and Emma and Mickey Junior have their own places, but if they don’t want to be there, I can have them at mine or we could go somewhere together.’
‘I’ll also need someone to help with a formal identification.’
‘I will.’ Mickey said straightaway. ‘I should have been here to stop it happening in the first place.’
*
Mickey Barton stepped out of the police car and squared his shoulders. He’d changed his outfit. He liked to look good whatever he was doing, so he’d swapped his dirty work clothes for his smart designer jeans and a navy T-shirt. He was going to wear white but had changed, just in case there was any blood around. A smart jacket and brown brogues completed the look. Appearances were important to him.
He wanted to do things right.
The detective, DC Stafford, led the way towards the mortuary. She was OK, he supposed, but not very smart; scruffy even. The older man was more professionally turned out. He was the boss, which was good, the right way round. He didn’t really agree with women bosses. Give her a few years and she’d be leaving to have babies anyway; just as it should be.
He followed her as they entered a reception room and greeted a man in a white gown, like that of a doctor. He was beginning to feel a bit nervous now. Would she look like she had when he last saw her? How was he supposed to react? Would he cry? He’d only ever cried once before and he never wanted to show that weakness again.
DC Stafford was standing with him explaining what would happen but he wasn’t really listening. He watched her lips, not hearing the words, his ears ringing and the panic rising. It didn’t feel real. Everything was a blur. She was saying something about not touching the body, just looking and saying yes or no, but that was all he could pick out. The doctor person opened the door to a room off the reception. It smelt of disinfectant, but it was a strange smell, not clean but cloying. It clung to his nose and hit the back of his throat. The room was lit with fluorescent lights and was very bright and white. They stepped into the brightness and he could see a metal trolley in the centre of the room. A body lay in the middle of the trolley wrapped in a white cover, with just a gap in it.
The policewoman was speaking again now. She took him by the arm and led him towards the shape. Inside the white cover was a plastic bag with a zip. The zip was undone, letting him see a white face. The white face belonged to Susan, his wife. It looked strange because it was so white; there was no colour in her cheeks. Her eyes were closed; she was expressionless.
He stared at her and said her name.
‘Susan. It’s my wife Susan Barton.’
The words sounded peculiar coming from his mouth. His voice was as expressionless as her face. Normally when he spoke those words it was to call her, speak to her or about her; normally they were attached to a sentence. But as he peered through the gap, he realised that normality had disappeared. His head was all over the place. Susan had gone for good and he could never reverse what had happened. His life would be so different now and there was no going back. Mickey Junior had lost his mother; Emma too and they had been so close. He thought of how she’d broken down just now, her agony at the missing ring, the one thing that she could hold on to of Susan. Everything had spiralled out of his control. He should have found a better way of handling things. He shouldn’t have done what he did. He felt sick.
He took a step backwards and felt the bile in his throat. He’d thought he could do this but the fear was building up in him and making him dizzy. What if they found out what he’d done? The policewoman was steering him backwards out of the door now. He was out of the spotlight at last, into the gloom. He could see the door out into the car park. He didn’t want to talk about anything. He wanted to escape from the nightmare and have everything like it was, before she’d cast him aside.
He pulled his arm away from the policewoman’s hold and bolted for the door, wanting suddenly to be as far away as possible from Susan and her unseeing eyes, the brightness and the smell of disinfectant.
As the cold, fresh air hit him he bent over and vomited.
Chapter 8
‘They’ve found her heart,’ Paul shouted towards Charlie as she and Hunter walked back into the office. It was late afternoon and she’d already been on duty for well over her normal eight hours but her mind was still processing everything she had seen.
‘Really. Where was it?’
‘It was a short distance away from the body, thrown over on one side of the path, as if he’d chucked it away as he walked along. The SOCO has bagged it up and it’s gone to the mortuary to be reunited with its body.’
‘Thanks. Nice way of putting it, Paul.’
‘Well it’s nice to think she has a heart again.’ He chortled to himself.
Bet was still there too. She and Charlie both groaned. Office humour never changed. The more gory the crime; the more corny the comment. He’d obviously been waiting all day to say that.
Hunter shook his head and disappeared into his office.
Charlie turned to Paul. ‘You’re sick, you know that? Poor woman, we’ve just had to tell her daughter and ex-husband she’s dead.’
‘Maybe he’s an ex-husband for a reason? The heart thing’s weird. A bit personal, don’t you think? Maybe it’s something she’s done? Or he’s done?’
She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. ‘Maybe! It’s a good theory, but there’s nothing to say so at the moment. We’ll see though. Who knows?’
Charlie slumped down and pulled her woolly hat off. It had remained glued to her head all day, even in the mortuary, where she thought she really should have removed it. By that stage though she knew, without doubt, her hair would be completely flat and lank. It was. However much she attempted to raise some life into it, the more it clung to her scalp. After a few minutes, she gave up and pulled the hat back on.
Hunter popped his head back round the door.
‘Charlie, you can go if you want to now. It’s going to be busy tomorrow. I’ve spoken with the guys in the MIT team and we’ve been seconded to the enquiry, in particular to assist around any possible domestic issues Susan might have had. Mickey Barton will have to be looked at closer. He had a possible motive and access. It’s a strange murder with the heart and finger being removed, like our suspect is making a point.’
‘Paul just said exactly the same.’
‘I’m not aware of anything, but we’ll have to ask around and see if there are any solved or unsolved murder cases or attempts that are similar. We’ll also take a look at Susan’s background; where she works, her family, the church she goes to and anything else that might be a reason for someone to want her dead.’
‘That will keep us busy then. It sounds as if she’s got quite an active social life.’
‘And the post-mortem is pencilled in for first thing tomorrow morning, so we should have a definitive cause of death then.’
‘Poor woman! I hope he didn’t cut her heart out while she was still conscious.’
‘I hope so too. Oh, and they’re gathering as much CCTV as they can. Our team can start going through it, while we’re out and about.’
‘I’ll volunteer for that.’ Bet was squeezing herself into a thick coat. She winced as she manoeuvred her arm into a sleeve. ‘Bloody back. It’s still so painful moving. I’ll quite happily sit and go through CCTV footage.’ She slipped a weighty handbag over her shoulder and winced again. ‘Anyway, you know how nosey I am. I love looking at hidden camera footage. People do the strangest things.’
Charlie laughed. She enjoyed that too, although it did get a little tedious after a while. The funny bits didn’t make up for the hours and hours of boredom, unless you were working backwards looking for a suspect. Then it was great. Identifying a suspect and their movements leading up to a crime was heady stuff. It could make or break a case. She got to assist with CCTV footage regularly, being one of only a hundred and forty officers classified as a Super Recogniser in the Met. Picking out the correct face in a crowd and following their progress through the streets was vital work and she enjoyed the challenge. This time though, she was happy for Bet to get the job started. She wanted a more active role.
‘Have a good night then,’ she waved at Bet. ‘And get Dave t
o give your back a massage.’
Paul held the door open for Bet as she walked past. ‘Ooh Bet, you could be in for a wicked night if he does that. A bit of deep heat and all that.’ He winked.
Bet let out an amused squeal and cuffed him round the back of his head. ‘Go on with you, Paul. The only heat my Dave’ll muster is when he boils the kettle to make us both a Horlicks before bedtime. I’ll see you all in the morning, bright and early.’
‘Me, too. I’m off now.’ Hunter was behind Bet.
Paul groaned. ‘I don’t do early, you know that. And if I have to do early, it certainly won’t be bright!’ He went over to the coat stand and unravelled his jacket, pulling the sleeves back through from where he’d taken it off in a rush earlier. ‘I’m on my way too. I’ll see you in the morning, at some point.’
‘Will do. Oh before you go,’ Charlie wandered over to Naz’s desk to see if there was any paperwork with Cornell Miller’s name on it. There were only a few scribbled notes. ‘Is Naz back? I want to see how she’s got on tracking Miller down.’
‘She is still around.’ Paul paused briefly. ‘I saw her just before you came back in. See ya tomorrow.’
He waved and disappeared, leaving Charlie alone in the main office. Quickly she logged on to her computer and checked on Cornell Miller. He was shown as wanted now for being unlawfully at large, after the escape from custody and also for the assault on Annie Mitchell, the WPC. Naz had obviously been working hard. He wasn’t as yet shown as wanted for the new GBH but that wasn’t surprising; he would need to be identified by the victim before that could be done and that might take a few days at least.
She looked up the crime report detailing Annie’s assault. She had injuries that would be classified as a GBH. Miller had now clocked up over a dozen victims who had suffered life-changing injuries at his hands. He really needed to be locked up for a long time. There were some new additions to the enquiries, but in the main, Naz had spent most of the day circulating him as wanted, overseeing the assault allegation on Annie and visiting the new victim. She hadn’t had much time to start searching for Miller himself.