‘Why wasn’t that given as cause of death?’ Kate said, astonshed.
‘As I said, there is nothing pathognomonic for asphyxiation. Was there anything found at the scene that indicated suffocation or smothering?’
Kate shook her head. ‘There was nothing noted.’
‘Then that’s probably why. I remember debating it with the coroner at the time. You had a confession and there was pressure from above to get this one sorted. I thought there was something weird, but you know I’m not one to argue with those in charge.’ He smiled at Kate. ‘That’s more your bag, I hear.’
Kate shrugged. ‘Trouble finds me,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘So how might we know for sure?’ she asked.
Albie screwed his face up. ‘You can’t, but take a look back at the evidence. You’re probably looking for a pillow or a cushion – something soft, because there wasn’t much other damage to the soft tissue on her face, only slight abrasions on the inside of her lips where they pressed against her teeth.’ He flicked through the pages on the screen. ‘Here it is, I thought so.’ He pointed to the text. ‘Small red fibres were found in her nose and mouth, and sent down to the lab for analysis, along with the fingernail scrapings. Did you get any DNA from those?’
‘There was nothing in the file,’ Kate said slowly, thinking back.
‘Looks like you have a few things to track down, DS Munro.’ Albie sat back precariously on the stool, finishing the last of his coffee and dropping the cup in the bin. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Thank you,’ she shouted as she ran out of the lab.
‘Any time, Katherine,’ she heard Albie call after her, but she was already gone, rushing back to the station, her mind going at a hundred miles an hour.
Back in the office, her suspicions were confirmed. There were no DNA results on file and the lab was closed, everyone at home for the weekend. She looked through the paper around her, picking up the itemised list of seized evidence from the case, running her finger down the list.
Harrison Becker’s laptop, containing photos of Madeleine Patterson, naked. The clothes worn that day by Thea and Gabriella and Harry. Bullet fragments and shell cases, back from ballistics. Then, at the bottom of the page, a list of miscellaneous items from the kitchen, including a red velvet cushion.
Kate pulled out the crime scene photos, searching each one; then, there it was. Lying underneath the kitchen table, no doubt pushed away by the paramedics but nonetheless close to Madeleine’s body. She took a deep breath, staring at the photo. Madeleine Patterson had been shot, but someone had smothered her.
The revelation nagged at Kate’s mind. Why would you go to that trouble? Madeleine was dying. Albie said the injuries sustained from the gunshot would have been life-threatening, so why the overkill?
There had only been a few people in that kitchen: Gabriella and Thea Patterson, Harrison Becker and his son, Harry. Kate looked over at the whiteboard, and the face of Harry stared back. Handsome, disarming, damaged. She had a theory he’d fired the gun, and they knew he’d been on the common on the night of Thea’s attack. What else had he lied about?
Kate glanced at the clock, then swore under her breath. The one thing she had intended to do that day was update Thea on the events in the case, and now it was nearly evening and she’d completely forgotten. She picked up her coat and keys and ran out to her car.
The route from Southampton Central Station to Thea’s house took her up Hill Lane. Past the common on her right, past the pub and the phone box where the 999 call had been made. It had been two weeks to the day since Thea’s attack. Kate couldn’t imagine what the poor woman had gone through. It must be terrifying to have no memory of what had happened to you.
She indicated and pulled slowly into the gravel driveway, surprised by the presence of another car alongside Thea’s red Micra. She looked up at the house. The afternoon was closing in and it was shrouded in darkness, looking down intimidatingly. She shivered. The eerie surroundings felt appropriate, she thought, to the dark nature of the crime.
Kate rang the doorbell, and heard footsteps and the bolts being pulled back. Thea smiled when she saw her, opening the door to let her inside.
‘Here, let me take your coat,’ she said.
Kate took it off and handed it to her, Thea draping it over the banisters at the bottom of the stairs. She showed her down the corridor to the kitchen.
‘You seem much better,’ Kate said, following behind her. Thea was wearing her usual uniform of black jeans, and looked tired, but had on a clean ironed T-shirt and cardigan over the top. Her hair was washed and neat. ‘Have you had a haircut?’
‘Yes, I thought I’d better.’ Thea self-consciously pushed her hair behind her ears, a gesture that reminded Kate of Gabi.
They walked down to the kitchen, and as they got there Ryan Holmes stood up from the kitchen table.
‘I should be going,’ he said. ‘Nice to see you, DS Munro.’
She nodded in return, surprised to see him there.
‘I’ll show you out,’ Thea said and the two of them left Kate alone in the kitchen.
She looked around the room, taking it in properly for the first time. The dark afternoon did the house no favours. Even though the main light was on, there were corners of shadows throwing odd shapes up the walls.
‘Do you want anything?’ Thea asked her as she came back into the room. ‘Tea, coffee?’ She seemed nervous, the sleeves of her cardigan pulled down over her hands.
‘Tea would be good. I didn’t know you were still friends with Mr Holmes,’ Kate said.
‘Yes, well, not for much longer, it seems. He’s going away. Death threats.’ Thea turned to fill the kettle from the tap. ‘It seems people don’t like it much when you turn your business partner in to the police and shut down your club. He thought it best to disappear for a while.’
Kate nodded. ‘Listen, Thea, I wanted to give you an update on where we are. With your case.’ She waited until Thea had made two mugs of tea and joined her at the table. ‘We’ve arrested someone.’
‘For my attack?’
‘Well, kind of.’ Kate was accustomed to giving bad news, but it wasn’t easy. She would never get used to it, and hoped she never would. She needed that empathy to keep her human, to avoid the desensitisation that often came with jobs like hers. ‘Through the evidence we’ve been gathering over the last few days, we’ve got a better picture of what happened to you that night.’ She stopped and looked at her. ‘We’re sorry, Thea, but we believe you were sexually assaulted.’
Thea chewed the inside of her cheek. Kate could see tears in her eyes. ‘Was I raped?’
‘No,’ Kate said quickly. ‘But he tried. And he’s in police custody now. We have a witness who is prepared to testify and DNA evidence against him.’
Thea thought for a moment, then looked up at Kate. ‘Was it Steve? The man that owned the club?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry,’ Kate said.
Thea took a deep breath in. ‘I started to remember bits. Not much, but little fragments. Sort of, flashes, you know?’ Kate nodded. ‘But I couldn’t piece it all together. I remember him, and being in the toilets and …’ She tapered off. ‘I just feel like such an idiot.’
Kate reached across and put her hand on Thea’s arm. ‘Nothing that happened that night was your fault. Nothing.’ Thea stared at Kate’s hand. ‘He spiked your drink, and the drug will have contributed to your memory loss that night. We believe you drank some, then Ryan finished off the rest. You did nothing wrong, Thea.’
‘And did Steve attack me on the common?’
Kate took a deep breath. ‘No, he didn’t. He has an alibi. But please be reassured, Thea, we are doing all we can. We haven’t stopped investigating, and won’t until we find who was responsible.’ She took a notebook out of her bag and wrote down a number. ‘These are the contact details for a helpline for people who have been through the same thing as you.’ She ripped off the page and passed it to her. ‘Call
them.’
Thea took the piece of paper and pen. She made a note next to the number and underlined it twice.
Kate frowned. ‘You’re left-handed,’ she said.
‘Not usually,’ Thea replied. ‘Since my fingers were hurt, I’ve been using my left more.’ She held up both her hands. ‘I’m ambidextrous, we both are. At school we were told to choose which hand to write with so we chose the right, but we can still use either.’
‘You both are?’ Kate repeated. ‘Gabi too?’
Thea cocked her head to one side. ‘Yes. Why?’
‘In the notes from the attack it says you’re right-handed. That you sustained injuries to your right hand, fighting off …’ She tapered off. ‘It’s not important, it doesn’t matter,’ she said, but her eyes had started scanning the room, her police instincts kicking in. ‘I should go. I’ve taken up too much of your time already.’
She stood up and Thea followed her to the front door. Kate picked up her coat from the banister and the one underneath it fell to the floor. Kate picked it up.
It was dark purple, and velvet. The bright patterned lining was lavishly made and luxurious, the coat distinctive and recognisable.
‘It used to be my mother’s,’ Thea said, noticing Kate looking. ‘I forgot we had it.’
‘We?’ Kate asked.
‘Well, Gabi really. She used to wear it. She must have left it here.’ Thea smiled. ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’
Kate nodded and ran her hand down the row of silver buttons, each one beautiful, unique, with a purple stone in the middle. Two of them were missing.
62
Thea saw the look on the detective’s face. She saw the speed she rushed away from the house.
Thea picked up the coat, running her hand down the soft velvet. She remembered an argument. She remembered the coat, the silver buttons shining in the darkness. She thought about what the detective had said, how she’d reacted when Thea had said they were both left-handed. Thea knew now. She knew what had happened.
She walked back to the kitchen and sat down at the table. The night was closing in, the rain pouring in torrents, the wind blowing it viciously against the window.
She picked up her mobile phone and dialled. A voice answered.
‘Meet me at the south entrance of the common, now,’ she said. She paused, listening to them protest. ‘Park on Cemetery Road. I’ll give you ten minutes.’
Thea hung up the phone, picked up the purple coat and left the house.
63
Harry drew up outside Mortimer’s house and turned the engine off, watching. His windscreen wipers divided the night into snippets through the rain. On the seat next to him, the gun lay wrapped in its plastic bag; a portent of doom, foreboding and ominous.
The night before, Harry hadn’t been able to sleep after Gabriella had left. Her absence had left a gap: a dent in the pillow where her head had rested only hours before; where she’d looked at him in the dim light and said she loved him; that she was sorry for everything that had happened, and she wanted to be with him.
But then she’d got dressed, and no amount of convincing from him could persuade her to stay.
Her departure had left him nervous. He’d lain there for hours, tossing and turning, before giving up to watch more late-night television. NFL, bloody American football, the only thing on at that time of night.
Morning had arrived and he’d woken scratchy-eyed on the sofa. He’d phoned her mobile and it rang out. He hadn’t left a message.
He’d got dressed and gone for a run, the crisp winter air numbing his hands, his muscles stiff. Harry realised he didn’t know where Gabriella had gone, or even how she had got to his in the first place. He knew she had a flat somewhere, separate from her husband, and then there was his house, of course. Had she gone back to Mortimer? The thought of it started a burn of jealousy in his chest and he ran faster, pushing it to the back of his mind.
He ran further than he had in a long time. It started to rain but he barely noticed. His brain replayed snapshots of their night, their whispered conversations, faces barely inches apart. He’d forgotten aspects about her that he now loved: the slight imperfections in the dark of her eyes, the scar on her forehead, practically hidden in her hairline.
His breath caught in his throat. He stopped in his tracks, doubled up by the side of the road, struggling to breathe. The scar on her forehead. That day after school, with the bullies. It had been Gabriella who started the fight, but Thea was hit with the stone. It was Thea who’d needed stitches. Thea who had the scar.
Harry felt the bottom drop out of his world. He remembered her words when she first arrived at his flat: ‘Your whole life you wanted me, and now you finally get a chance to have me, you’re hesitating?’ Thea hadn’t known about him and Gabi in Bournemouth; she didn’t know they’d slept together before.
His chest heaved and he rested his hands on his knees, light-headed, forcing himself to take gulps of oxygen. He felt sick. How could she have lied in that way? How could she do something so cold? He started the walk back to his flat, soaked to the skin, tired and shivering, crossing roads without looking, nearly getting hit by cars, horns blaring. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything any more.
He opened the door to his flat, pulling off his wet clothes and leaving them where they fell. He turned the shower on full and stood under it, letting the scalding water burn his skin. Harry felt dirty and used. How could he have been so stupid? The things he’d said, the things they’d done. He faced the torrent of water, trying to wash away the humiliation and shame. Deceived by the person he trusted more than anyone in the world.
But then something inside him switched; the hurt curled up and hid, replaced by a burn he’d only felt one time before, fifteen years ago. He turned off the shower, got dressed and opened the drawer next to his bed.
He’d meant to get rid of the gun. But something had stopped him, and it wasn’t because he wanted to take it to the police. Holding the gun in his hand, standing by the tree in the dark and the rain, Harry had remembered how he’d felt all those years ago. It had been scary and terrifying and horrible. But it had also been powerful. He’d been in charge.
Harry picked up the gun, unwrapping it from the plastic bag, and held it in front of him, feeling its weight, the cold metal in his hand.
He wouldn’t be a victim any more. It was time to take back control.
He’d driven first to Thea’s, but finding the house empty he’d gone to Mortimer’s, his next best guess as to where the twins would be. The house was shrouded in darkness, but Harry could see a dim glow from one of the front windows.
As he waited, the outside light turned on and the front door opened. Gabriella emerged, pulling a long black coat around her shoulders, ducking her head in the pouring rain. Harry went to open the car door, then stopped as Mortimer followed her out of the house. They were clearly arguing. Lights flashed on the black BMW and Gabriella climbed in, Mortimer waiting behind, his arms crossed, sheltering in the doorway. The BMW sped off down the road and Harry started his engine and followed.
The BMW was going at speed and Harry struggled to keep up, cursing the cars that got in between them, aggressively pushing his way out onto the roundabout and following her down The Avenue. He saw the common on his right, frowning as she turned down a side road. Why on earth was she going here? And why the urgency?
Gabriella parked up and Harry followed her in a few cars down. He watched her climb out, then walk quickly towards the common. The rain had stopped but it was completely dark now and freezing cold; it reminded Harry of that night, two weeks ago.
He’d known Gabriella was back in town. He’d seen her on the society pages, out and about with other men, knowing she hadn’t called him. So he’d gone to the club to see her, to talk, nothing else, but before he’d had a chance to go inside, she’d come out and he’d followed her. But it hadn’t been Gabriella, had it? Like last night, he’d got the twins confused. It had been Thea, dru
nk, alone, and he’d followed her onto the common.
Like now, he’d been a mess: confused, tired, angry, his emotions torn to shreds. But unlike then, tonight he had a gun.
64
Gabriella walked deeper down the paths of the common. She heard nothing more than the rustle of the leaves and the sound of the cars on the road; it was pitch black and the streetlights had little effect on the murky night. She cursed her sister for making her come here. She should have said no, she should have refused, but how could she?
She could feel the cold reach under her coat, freezing her to her core. She thought about turning back, but pushed on, her eyes straining to see into the darkness. She knew she was getting close to the place Thea had been attacked.
Eventually, she saw a figure on the path ahead, partly hidden by the trees.
Gabi took a deep breath, trying to quell her nervousness. She stopped and stood in front of her sister.
‘Why are we here, Thea?’ Gabi asked.
There was a long pause, then Thea started talking, her voice solemn. ‘I know what happened,’ she said. ‘That night, I saw you.’ Thea lifted her arm and subconsciously stroked the back of her head. ‘I don’t remember much, but I remember seeing you. I remember this coat.’ She looked down at what she was wearing and Gabi recognised it as her old purple velvet coat, the one that used to belong to their mother. ‘You’ve had it all this time, and that night you were wearing it.’
Gabi didn’t reply, the words caught in her throat.
‘Why can’t we just be a family again,’ Thea said, sadly. ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted, Gabriella. You, me and Harry. Why can’t you leave the past alone?’
‘I’m sorry, Thea,’ Gabriella started, but before she could say any more, a figure in the darkness caught her attention.
‘I know it was you,’ a male voice said.
Harry was standing behind them. ‘How could you do it, Thea?’ he said, slowly.
Ask Me No Questions Page 24