EVIL CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘Has anyone else touched it apart from you?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s been in a box in our loft since I brought it home.’

  Sophie used a pen to raise the front cover and stared at the message written in the top right-hand corner of the title page. Marsh leaned over to look, and Rae peered over his shoulder. Sophie put on a pair of latex gloves and took out the book from Mark Paterson’s bedside table.

  Tom gasped. ‘It’s the same one!’

  Sophie flipped open the cover, exposing the message inside. Was the handwriting the same? It was difficult to tell.

  ‘Where did this one come from?’ Tom asked, looking shocked.

  ‘The flat of the man who we think committed suicide ten days ago,’ Sophie replied.

  ‘So was he in some kind of liaison with Eddie? Was it him who gave her the book?’

  ‘We don’t think so, although we can’t rule it out at this stage.’ She looked at Tom. ‘Did you ever discuss your sister’s relationships with her?’

  Tom narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look, Mr Davis, we can’t pussyfoot around if we want to get to the bottom of this. Was she gay? If so, you must tell us because it will save so much time. We don’t want to be looking for possible boyfriends if you know she never had any. Come on, we need help here.’

  Tom remained silent for some time. Finally he sighed. ‘Yes, she was. We never really talked about it though. She just wasn’t interested in men. I picked up on that a long time ago.’

  ‘Thanks. And rest assured that bit of information stays in this office for the time being.’

  ‘So is this H person a woman, do you think?’

  Sophie nodded. ‘It seems likely. As yet we know nothing about her. But don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of it.’

  Tom Davis left, shaking his head.

  Sophie took Barry aside. ‘Anything of interest at the charity shop? The house clearance people?’

  ‘Sort of, but I’m not sure how useful. Most of her clothes had already been sold, but we went through the stuff that was still there. We found this entry ticket in a jacket pocket, tucked right down at the bottom. It was no wonder her brother missed it.’

  Sophie took the plastic evidence bag he held out to her and peered at the contents.

  ‘It’s for the Abbotsbury Swannery,’ Barry said. ‘Down on the coast past Weymouth. The till receipt with it is for two adults and it’s dated April the twenty-sixth. Rae thinks that’s one of the dates mentioned in her diary.’

  Sophie thought hard. ‘Yes. I’ve been looking at the case notes that Rose Simons brought across. Edwina mentions in her diary that she pulled some leaves out of H’s hair on a walk near the coast. That’s good, Barry. Definitely worthwhile. Anything else?’

  Barry nodded. ‘Yes. We visited the place that did the house clearance. Apparently the brother had missed a drawer in the base of the bed. Maybe he thought it just contained spare sheets and pillowcases, but there was this as well.’

  He pushed a sketchpad towards Sophie. Using a pen, she turned the pages. Only the first five had sketches, and all were of Edwina Davis, in a variety of poses and mostly outdoors. Three were done in pencil and two in charcoal. All were beautifully drawn and all bore the single letter H in the bottom left-hand corner.

  Barry still looked puzzled. ‘Something else has been bothering me, ma’am. Those diary extracts. Why would Edwina have only referred to the young woman as H? Why didn’t she use her full name?’

  ‘My guess is that she was worried about the trouble she might be in if the relationship ever came to light and the diaries were found. In fact, that’s possibly what drove her to suicide — the threat of exposure for having a relationship with someone who was vulnerable and young. Given her position as a responsible senior healthcare worker on the ethics committee, it would have had to be investigated. Maybe she’d have been suspended for a while. Edwina was hiding it because she knew the problems. Of course she never expected that the threat would come from the young woman herself.’

  Chapter 14: Slugs and Snails

  Barry Marsh had spent the morning phoning various travel agents and airline offices, looking for two women who had gone on holiday to Majorca in the early summer, seven months previously. Finally he found the bookings at a local Dorchester travel agency.

  ‘Who was the other person travelling?’ Barry asked.

  ‘The name we have is Harriet Imber.’

  At last, thought Barry. Here was their H. ‘Is there an age recorded for her?’ he asked.

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘What type of room did they book at the hotel?’ Marsh was scribbling furiously.

  ‘A double room. For four nights. According to our records, all the travel arrangements went to plan and they enjoyed their holiday. They completed a short online review when they returned. Is there anything else I can help you with today?’

  Barry thanked the travel agent and ended the call. They now had a name. He went to Sophie’s office and told her the news.

  ‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘Now we have to get back to Exeter University and see if they have a student with that name.’

  Sophie had the sketch book open at one of the drawings of Edwina. ‘Look at this, Barry. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m no art expert, ma’am, but it looks good to me. It’s skilfully done, I would’ve thought.’

  ‘What are these down here?’ Sophie pointed to the bottom of the sketch which showed the ground at Edwina’s feet.

  Barry looked closely. ‘Good heavens. Slugs and snails. And is that a tiny spider about to run across her foot? I hadn’t spotted them before. They’re a bit faint and blend into the general shading if you don’t look closely.’

  Sophie turned a page. ‘And this one?’

  Again nothing stood out at first, but then Barry saw it in the fine detail of the grass at Edwina’s feet. ‘Is that a scorpion? Next to her toe?’

  ‘Exactly what I thought.’

  Sophie turned to the next page. Barry spotted it sooner this time. The innocent-looking birds in the background looked a lot like vultures.

  ‘That’s a bit sick, isn’t it?’ he said.

  Sophie handed him a magnifying glass. ‘Have another look. Take your time.’

  Marsh squinted through the magnifying glass and examined a heavily shaded area of undergrowth. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

  The faces of several tiny devils could be made out, peering from behind the blades of grass, and looking up at Edwina Davis.

  ‘Now the last sketch,’ Sophie instructed.

  Marsh turned the page and again inspected the shaded areas of undergrowth and foliage. Were those tiny figures there, hidden in the grass? He moved the magnifying glass around and then he saw it. Tiny imps, copulating in a threesome. He looked up at his boss with an expression of distaste.

  ‘Look at that tree on the extreme left,’ Sophie said.

  Barry went over it again, trying to spot what was hidden amid the leaves. And there it was. Two tiny forms suspended in the tangled foliage. The first seemed to be a man, and the second was undoubtedly a woman.

  Barry looked up. ‘Did you say that Edwina Davis was found hanging from a beam?’

  Sophie nodded. Barry returned his attention to the sketchbook. ‘What about the first two drawings? I can’t see anything unusual in them.’

  ‘I didn’t spot anything either, but the whole thing will have to go for forensic analysis. It looks to me, Barry, as if the artist added these figures after the sketches were finished. I can’t be sure about it though. An expert may be able to confirm it one way or the other.’

  ‘What would that mean?’

  ‘That the artist, possibly this H person, made the drawings of Edwina and maybe even showed her the sketchbook. But later, when the relationship ended, she drew these nasty little extras before handing the book over. That’s not definite, of course, but possible. They might even have been added by someone else.’r />
  ‘How was it done? We needed a magnifying glass to make out the detail. How could someone draw something so tiny?’

  ‘With a large magnifying glass, a very sharp pencil and a lot of patience. Whoever it was has a lot of talent. I’ll tell you one thing, Barry, whoever did this is sick. What normal person would even think of such a thing?’

  Barry shook his head slowly and returned to his desk. Time to phone Exeter University and trace this Harriet Imber person. For once, he didn’t have long to wait. Yes, the university did have a Harriet Imber on their books. She was an undergraduate student on the ancient history course. Would he like to be put through to the Dean of that particular department? Barry soon found himself talking to a Professor Wendy Kominski, who sounded increasingly concerned as the conversation progressed.

  ‘Can you come down?’ she asked. ‘Something as sensitive as this would be better done face to face. I’m uneasy about releasing personal information over the phone unless it’s of immediate importance. I hope you don’t think I’m being obstructive, but I have a duty of care towards my students.’

  Barry sighed. Did he really want to make this trip? The boss seemed to like Exeter. Maybe if he put it the right way she might step in. He made an appointment with the Dean for the following morning and explained that one of the other team members might appear for the interview.

  ‘What? You’ve never been to Exeter, Barry? This is your opportunity. And tomorrow would suit us really well.’ Sophie subjected him to a short lecture on the history of the town and the university, then returned to studying the case file on Edwina Davis.

  Barry left her office, and sighed again. He’d obviously given her the wrong impression entirely, and now he was landed with this bloody trip. Sophie and Rae were both graduates with degrees. Didn’t they understand how he felt about that? Visiting a university always seemed to reinforce his feelings of inferiority. Maybe he should consider getting sponsorship for some kind of further qualifications. But what would happen if he failed? It would end up as a blemish on his record, always there. It’d be better not to start something like that, just in case. After all, he had justifiable cause for pride in his career so far. It wasn’t bad for a Dorset farmer’s son with a pretty ordinary school record. ‘He excels at games and team events,’ had been the most positive statement from his school years, along with ‘a reliable and trustworthy young man.’ His fiancée, Gwen, had a similar school background. Reliable and solid application, but distinctly lacking in any sign of academic brilliance. Maybe they were two of a kind, perfectly suited to each other.

  Chapter 15: New Hair

  Dusk was falling as Hattie made her way to her residential block. She walked around the corner and stopped dead. A police squad car was parked in front of the main doors.

  ‘Shit, I’ve forgotten something,’ she said to the student she’d been talking to. ‘I think I’ve left a notebook back in the seminar room. You go on. It’ll only take me ten minutes to go back and get it. I’ll maybe catch up with you later.’

  She turned and hurried away. Maybe the police visit was nothing to do with her, but it was better not to take any chances. She looked at her watch, and made a quick decision. There might just about be time. She took a path that led towards the shops and pubs clustered around St David’s station, past a small minimarket and a café until she reached a small hair salon. No customers. Maybe she was in luck. She opened the door and spotted the manageress sitting in the corner reading a magazine. Hattie forced a smile.

  ‘Hi, Jen. Listen, do you have time to cut my hair? It’s finally got too much for me, and I want to get rid of it.’

  The stylist looked at her in surprise. ‘What? Now?’

  ‘Sure. Take it to a mid-bob length? And listen, can you get rid of this red colour? Make it light brown with a few blonde streaks? I know this is a bit sudden but I’ll pay whatever you want. Cash.’

  The hairdresser shrugged. ‘Okay, but it won’t be perfect, not at this time of day and in the time I’ve got available. I don’t want you complaining afterwards.’

  ‘Absolutely not. Just do the best you can, okay? I’ve ditched my boyfriend and I want to get a new look,’ she added as an afterthought.

  The new-look Hattie Imber returned to the student block some ninety minutes later to find the panda car gone. Even her closest friends wouldn’t have recognised her. The slightly wild-haired, gypsy look had been replaced by something altogether more sophisticated and sultry. Her curls had been tamed and the chestnut-red colour was now a muted golden brown, with a few blonde streaks to brighten it up. Maria’s jaw dropped when she realised who had pushed herself into the seat she’d been keeping free for Hattie.

  ‘Better close your mouth, Maria. It’s not pretty hanging open like that.’

  ‘What have you done?’ Maria gasped. ‘You look . . . wow! I don’t know what to say!’

  ‘Jen did it, down at the salon by the station. I let her choose the look. It’s great, isn’t it? The new me!’

  ‘But that must have cost a lot of money, Hattie. I thought you didn’t have any.’

  ‘God looks after the righteous, Maria. That’s what my gran always said. Money seems to appear when I really need it. Maybe it’s my fairy godmother. I always used to think I had one. I’m going to get a couple of photos done right now, and get my university card updated first thing tomorrow. I love this new look so much that it’s going to be me from now on. I really fancy looking efficient and business-like. Maybe it’ll get me a better degree. By the way, does anyone know why there was a police car here earlier?’

  ‘Someone had their laptop stolen. I heard it was that Christopher Ealing on the second floor. You know, the one who’s always drunk. He probably left his room unlocked again.’

  * * *

  True to her word, the following morning Hattie appeared at the door of the university administration offices soon after they opened, photos in hand. She even offered to save time by helping with the laminating, an offer that was gratefully accepted by the over-stretched staff. Hattie also helped them exchange the photo on her official student record.

  ‘That’s so helpful,’ the administration clerk said. ‘We’re understaffed today because of the flu epidemic that’s just started. Your name rings a bell, by the way. I’m sure it cropped up yesterday. Just wait a minute, will you?’

  The secretary went and spoke to a colleague. ‘Yes, there’s a message from your Dean’s secretary. Someone’s coming down from Dorset to see you later this morning, so you need to be back in your faculty building by then.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Hattie asked.

  ‘Don’t know. We only heard because Louise over there was helping out in your department yesterday afternoon. She’s temping because of the staff shortage.’

  Hattie’s cheerful smile vanished. She turned on her heel and hurried from the office, confused and anxious. What should she do? She hadn’t checked her message box or emails yet, so maybe she should do it now. When she finally saw the message, her stomach turned to water. Someone from the police wanted to speak to her. He was travelling from Dorset and would be arriving at eleven. The message slip suggested that she should meet the officer, a DS Marsh, in the reception area and take him to the interview lounge. Oh, Christ. Oh, Jesus. Oh, God. What did he want? She frantically thought back over the events of recent weeks. Had she made a mistake somewhere? She didn’t think so. Fuck. If only she’d got her hair restyled the previous week rather than waiting till yesterday. Wouldn’t such a recent change of appearance be too obvious? Had she left it too late? But she couldn’t have got it done before yesterday. She’d had no money, for Christ’s sake. Why was the world so much against her?

  * * *

  Hattie sensed a possible victory soon after she took the detectives into the interview lounge and sat down with them. The bloke had been wary at first, as if weighing her up, but now he seemed quite open and relaxed. The woman hadn’t said anything. Round one to me, thought Hattie.

  ‘
Sorry, my memory’s like a sieve,’ Hattie said. ‘Who did you say you were again?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Barry Marsh. I’m with Dorset police. And you’re Harriet Imber, a student on the ancient history course, is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Hattie nodded eagerly. It felt strange not having her long, curly locks brushing her shoulders. This shorter hairstyle would take some getting used to. ‘It’s a great subject. I love it.’

  ‘We were looking at your file just now with the Dean. I see your home is in Bridgeford St Paul, just outside Dorchester. I’ve driven through it a couple of times. It’s a beautiful village, isn’t it?’ He smiled.

  Hattie gave him her brightest smile in return. ‘It’s perfect. I can’t imagine living anywhere else in the whole world.’

  ‘Do you get into Dorchester very much? When you’re at home, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It’s lovely as well. I went to school there.’

  ‘That was at Corfedale, the private school?’

  ‘Yes. But I’ve got loads of friends from all types of backgrounds. That’s what’s great about being here. I’ve made lots more friends.’

  He nodded. ‘The reason we’re here, Harriet, is that we’re investigating the death of a man on the Dorset coast two weeks ago. Mark Paterson. Did you know him?’

  Harriet opened her eyes wide and shook her head. Her bobbed hair swayed gently. ‘No. I don’t know anyone of that name.’ She put her hand to her mouth, looking shocked. ‘How did he die?’

  ‘His body was found in the sea. He’d drowned, but we’re not sure how he ended up in the water. A young woman was spotted on the coast path nearby.’

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ Hattie replied quickly. ‘Why did you think it was me?’

  ‘Your name cropped up on a list of possible contacts. Can you tell us where you were on Sunday morning, just over two weeks ago?’

  She said nothing for a few moments. ‘I was here. I didn’t leave the campus. The weather was really bad, and anyway I had an essay to finish. It was due in the next day.’

  ‘Can anyone vouch for you?’