Killing by Colours

by Wonny Lea

  ‘I’m torn between going up to the fourth floor to see what’s happening with the PM and going to the home of the car owner to ascertain whether or not she is our victim. I think it must be the latter.’ Turning to DS Cotter he asked. ‘Will you chase up anything you can find out about Miss Mary Rossiter and then get an update from the crime scene? I want all the tapes covering today from the surveillance cameras in the car park and see if you can get the security officer to give us a description of the man who reported the incident. Helen will come to Caerphilly with me and you can let all the relevant people know that the first official briefing on this case will be here, at 4 p.m. Is that OK with you?’ he asked Alex.

  ‘Fine,’ Alex responded, turning to DS Cotter. ‘I need to speak to the professor so I’ll tell him about the briefing arrangements.’

  With everyone certain of the tasks that needed to be completed Martin led the way to his car, and about fifteen minutes later they had left the M4 motorway and were heading northwest on the A470 towards Caerphilly. Martin had tapped the postcode into his sat nav and switched it on for the last part of the journey. ‘I hate that woman’s voice,’ he explained to Helen. ‘That’s why I only turn her on when I get to the part of the journey where her knowledge of the area is better than mine.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ laughed Helen. ‘She sounds like a really posh robot, but you can turn her off if you want to because I know exactly where Merlin Crescent is – I have a cousin living in Merlin Place and it’s the next block of houses.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Martin, and he immediately switched off the robotic voice in mid-sentence. He looked around as they drove through Merlin Place, and he could see that there were some large detached properties and some buildings that were divided into flats.

  He turned into Merlin Crescent. As the name suggested, all the homes sat back along the extended half-moon shape of the road, and he slowed down as they came close to the number he was looking for. The house was one half of a semi-detached pair and the adjoining one was a hive of activity. Three young children were running up and down the short path knocking into one another and screaming with laughter. They all came to the edge of the path to get a better look at Martin’s car and the oldest one called out to his mother who was, presumably, in the house.

  ‘Mammy, some people have come to see Miss Rossiter but she’s not there.’

  Martin heard a woman’s voice. ‘Come in here and mind your own business,’ she said. ‘If you don’t get yourselves sorted in the next few minutes there’ll be no party this afternoon.’

  Helen pointed to the banner across the front door indicating that someone was eight today and gave a friendly wave to the children as Martin rang the doorbell of Miss Rossiter’s house.

  ‘Mister, she’s not in – I told you she’s not in,’ the boy shouted to Martin. ‘She said she’d buy me a birthday present but she hasn’t, and if she’s not back soon she’ll be too late for the party, ’cos it starts at two.’

  The boy’s mother appeared at the door and took over the conversation. ‘I’m sorry about my son,’ she began. ‘He seems to have formed his own neighbourhood watch scheme. Miss Rossiter is very kind but she’ll soon get fed up with his pestering, and he’s even invited her to his birthday party. Archie is right, however, about her not being at home, and according to him she left just before nine o’clock this morning. Can I help? Do you want to leave her a message or something?’

  Martin had walked towards the woman as she spoke and as he approached her he took out his warrant card and formally introduced himself and Detective Constable Cook-Watts. ‘Is there somewhere we could speak without the children hearing?’ he asked and the woman called up the stairs. ‘Danny, can you come down here, there are some detectives that want a word.’

  ‘Yes, right, pull the other leg,’ shouted a voice from one of the bedrooms. ‘I’m trying to blow up these helium balloons and pack a pass-the-parcel at the same time, so tell Archie I’ll play detective games later.’

  ‘Danny, I’m serious, will you please come down here now?’

  Something in the tone of the woman’s voice must have got the message through as a man holding three purple helium balloons came to the top of the stairs and looked down. ‘Sorry!’ he said descending the stairs two at a time. ‘What’s up? – Has there been an accident or something? Is it someone in the family?’

  Martin re-introduced him and Helen and explained that their visit was regarding Miss Rossiter. The man introduced himself as Danny Lloyd and his partner as Mandy Pugh. ‘We don’t share the same name,’ he told the detectives ‘but we do share all the same children and as you can see they’re in birthday mode. Sorry if they’ve been a pain.’

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Martin. ‘I need to talk to you about Miss Rossiter, and preferably without the children hearing.’

  A moment later Martin and Helen were sitting in a lounge strewn with wrapping paper and birthday presents and speaking to Danny Lloyd while the children were upstairs continuing with the balloon-blowing and parcel-packing which their father had abandoned.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ asked Danny. ‘Has something happened to Miss Rossiter? Sorry, I don’t even know her first name, but maybe that’s the way it is with retired teachers – she’s Miss Rossiter to everyone.’

  Martin’s mind did a flip as he remembered a couple of lines from the poem he had received that morning.

  ‘No more the teacher for this time the lesson I will teach.’

  So another thing was falling into place, as it looked as if the victim had been a teacher. If there had been any doubt that there was a connection between the murder and the letter, there was no more, and Martin knew that when he got back he would be concentrating on every word that had been written.

  ‘Is it at all likely that Miss Rossiter would lend her car to anyone?’ asked Martin.

  Danny shook his head. ‘She doesn’t seem to know many people and although she goes out quite a lot I’ve never known her have visitors to the house. It’s about nine months since she moved in and there was a middle-aged couple who helped her with the move but that’s about it. Look, it’s obvious that something serious has happened, are you able to tell me what it is?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ replied Martin. ‘I just wanted to make sure we were jumping to the right conclusions. The fact is that Miss Rossiter’s car was parked in The Red Dragon Centre this morning and a member of the public noticed that she was lying across the steering wheel and he alerted Security to a potential problem. When the police arrived they discovered that Miss Rossiter was dead, and I’m afraid she didn’t die from natural causes – she was murdered.’

  ‘Oh, my good God! That can’t be right, surely? Murdered in her own car and in broad daylight.’ Danny struggled with his words. ‘What did they do to her? Perhaps it was some sort of accident. I can’t think why anyone would want to murder her.’

  ‘Well as you can imagine,’ replied Martin ‘I am not able to give you the details but I’m afraid that the idea of an accident is out of the question and all I can say is that she was stabbed.’

  ‘Stabbed!’ echoed Danny. ‘Then it must have been a case of mistaken identity. Why would anyone single out Miss Rossiter and stab her and on Archie’s birthday? I can’t get my head around this.’

  ‘What can you tell us about Miss Rossiter?’ Helen asked gently. ‘You said earlier that she moved in about nine months ago; have you got to know her well in that time?’

  Danny raised a smile. ‘Archie is the only one who has had anything to do with her, really,’ he replied. ‘We’re all sociable, in that we speak to her in passing, but we’ve taken our lead from her and she gave us the impression that she wanted to be left alone. Archie has not yet reached the age of discretion and he’s knocked on her door several times – and to be fair, she’s helped him with a couple of school projects.’

  ‘When she moved in one of my mates from the pub told me that she used to teach in the school that his kids
went to and she had the reputation of being quite a strict disciplinarian – “a bit of a dragon” is what he actually said! But he did say that his two boys achieved more in her class than at any other time in the school.’

  Martin heard the words ‘a bit of a dragon’ and matched yet another connection between the poem and the murder.

  ‘I take it from what you’ve said that you wouldn’t know how to contact Miss Rossiter’s next of kin or anyone who could help with a formal identification? I hate to ask you this especially, as you are in the middle of sorting out your son’s party, but would you consider helping us? Your neighbour has not been disfigured in any way, and it would just be a question of you stating that the body is indeed Miss Rossiter.’

  Martin didn’t know what the reaction would be to his request but Danny didn’t hesitate. ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t help you with contacts, but I will help with the formal identification you need, it’s the least we can do. Do you want me to come with you now?’

  While the two men had been speaking Helen had received a call on her mobile and told Martin that a set of keys belonging to the victim’s car had been found. Sergeant Evans had made the call and was able to tell Helen that there were two other keys on the keyring and one was almost certainly a house key.

  Martin accepted the information and then turned back to Danny and thanked him for his cooperation. ‘You carry on with your party plans,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t say anything to the children and let Archie enjoy his day. It looks as if we may have recovered the keys to Miss Rossiter’s house and so an officer, DS Cotter, will be here in a little while to look around the house. When he has finished and if it fits in with your plans, he can bring you to the station, where you will be able to make the formal identification, and then we’ll arrange for you to get a lift back.’

  ‘That’s fine with me,’ replied Danny. ‘Poor sod. She wasn’t that old by today’s standards and she was certainly active and seemed to be in good health. Why would anyone want to murder her?’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t be too long before we find the person responsible and maybe then we will have an answer to your question,’ was Martin’s reply. ‘In the meanwhile thank you for being so helpful and if you think of anything that may help us please give me a ring.’

  Martin left his card, and it was a few minutes into the journey back to Cardiff before any conversation occurred in the car. When Helen did eventually speak it was clear that she and Martin had been sharing the same thoughts. ‘There’s no doubt that the poem you received was written by the killer, is there? I can’t remember it exactly but there is a reference to the colour red and something about a dragon.’

  ‘No doubt whatsoever,’ said Martin. ‘Having read it several times and then written it on the board I think I know it word for word. The actual word “red” is only mentioned once but the killer wrote it on red paper and used a red envelope. The crime was committed at the Red Dragon Centre and we know that the victim’s hands were tied behind her back with red cord.’

  ‘The poem tells us the woman is dead – we were never meant to find her alive and the writer indicates that he or she knew the victim. We now know that Miss Rossiter was a teacher, so that bit fits, and if she was strict she would certainly have been seen by some kids as a bit of a dragon.’

  ‘Well I thought that a number of my teachers were fire-breathing dragons,’ said Helen, ‘but I never seriously contemplated bumping them off.’

  Martin laughed. ‘We would be working around the clock if every pupil had that idea but in this case I believe we are being directed towards an ex-student and one who is harbouring an unnatural grudge. I wonder how many children Miss Rossiter taught during the years when she was working as a teacher? I guess it narrows it down from everyone in the country being a suspect, but it will still run into hundreds if not thousands of people and over quite an age range.’

  Helen nodded. ‘The murderer obviously knew Miss Rossiter but the thing that worries me, sir, is that he or she knows your home address. That’s more than most people would do and I don’t like the thought of that.’

  ‘You and me both,’ replied Martin, as he parked the car and led the way back to Incident Room One.

  Finding no one there he suggested to Helen that he could have an idea regarding their colleagues’ whereabouts and changing direction headed down the backstairs to the staff dining room. It was no surprise to find DS Cotter and Alex finishing off a late lunch.

  ‘Sorry we didn’t wait for you,’ said Alex. ‘It was coming up to two o’clock and I needed something more than those couple of slices of toast we had earlier to keep me going.’

  ‘No problem,’ replied Martin. ‘I was awake early this morning with the intention of sorting out my garden, so I had scrambled eggs on toast before the noxious letter arrived. I’ll get a sandwich or something now and then we can have a session going over what we know before the briefing.’

  Martin turned to David Cotter. ‘I understand we have recovered the victim’s missing keys.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ was the reply. ‘They were handed into Security by a couple of teenage girls and I get the feeling that we were meant to find them.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ questioned Martin.

  ‘Well, there was no attempt to hide them, and the girls just saw them sitting in the middle of the bonnet of their mother’s car as she was about to drive off. It’s probably just a coincidence but that car is a red Mondeo – exactly like the victim’s car, but red, not black.’

  ‘No,’ replied Martin. ‘That is no coincidence. We’re dealing with one sick bastard who likes playing games, and I suspect we’ll see more things linking the murder to the poem as we get further into the case.’

  The three men discussed the keys and Alex confirmed that there was nothing he would be able to get from them in the way of links to the killer. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Getting prints from keys is difficult at the best of times. Here we have a situation where the murder was planned and the killer is likely to have worn gloves followed by at least three people handling the keys since they were found.’

  Helen brought an orange juice and a sandwich to the table, and as she sat down Martin suggested she update the other two regarding the visit to Merlin Crescent. He returned a few minutes later with a ham salad baguette and a coffee in time to hear Helen summing up. ‘So we know that Miss Rossiter left her home, driving her black Mondeo, just before nine o’clock this morning – and we were told that she is a retired teacher, apparently with a reputation for being something of a dragon.’

  ‘Everything we know so far fits in with the letter you got this morning,’ said Alex to Martin. ‘Any thoughts on what it could all be about?’

  Martin replied. ‘At this moment in time none whatsoever, and before we have our first briefing I would like some thinking time.’ He turned to DS Cotter. ‘Helen knows where the victim lives and you have her house keys so I’d like you both to go there and take a look around. Don’t go in a squad car as I don’t want you upstaging an eight year-old’s birthday party that should by now be well underway. You can bring the neighbour back with you as he has agreed to do the formal identification. I think we should move the planned briefing forward in time to 4.30, to allow you to get to Caerphilly and back and for me to think things through.’

  Helen finished her sandwich and headed towards the car park with DS Cotter, leaving Alex with an opportunity to air his concerns. ‘We have worked together for many years, Martin, but we’ve been friends for much longer, and I’m seriously worried that someone, someone we know now to be a killer, has picked on you as the focus for whatever sick game he is playing. I say “he” although it is possible that the person responsible is a woman – but my gut instinct is that it’s a man.’

  ‘I had just finished a call from the Professor before I came to lunch and basically all he had to say was he had finished the PM and that the woman had been stabbed twice. He’s happy with the revised time of four thirty for the first
briefing as it will give him more time to pick up some colleagues from Cardiff Central station. I think he said one was coming by train from London and the other from Manchester.

  ‘Anyway, they and several others have a reunion do tonight at the St David’s Hotel. He plans to meet them within the next hour or so and take them to the hotel. I guess he should be back here by four thirty, but then he wants to be away by five.’

  Martin laughed. ‘Well at least that will ensure a shorter than usual pathology lesson for us all. I don’t personally see a reunion of aging, probably brilliant pathologists being a fun-packed evening but what do I know about it?’

  ‘Who knows?’ replied Alex. ‘I wonder what the collective noun is for a group of eminent pathologists.’

  ‘What about an autopsy of academics?’ suggested Martin as the two men parted, each with a couple of hours of work to do before the start of the first briefing session.

  Barely had Martin sat down at his desk when, without ceremony, his door opened and Superintendent Bryant walked in. There were three things unexpected about this and the first was that Martin had never before known the super to be around at the weekend. Secondly, Martin couldn’t remember ever having been paid a visit, as the norm was for Martin to be summoned upstairs. The third thing was that Martin had never seen Superintendent Bryant wearing anything but his uniform.

  This afternoon he was dressed in what could be described as this season’s ‘must have’ attire for a weekend on the golf course. For a few seconds Martin took in the whole ensemble, from dark green and tan coloured shoes that looked decidedly expensive to the wide-brimmed black hat with the Galvin Green logo. Not being a golfing man, the relevance of the matching V-neck sweater and cotton trousers was lost on him, but he suspected that whatever the superintendent’s handicap was it was not his dress code.

  One could be forgiven for thinking that anyone dressed so well and obviously set for an enjoyable afternoon on the golf course would be in a good humour, but Martin was soon to discover that this was not the case.