“You gotta keep your mouth shut about this and not tell a soul. If you do, I’ll find out and you’ll get a whippin’.”
“I won’t tell no one.”
“OK . . . You get this tenner for now. There’ll be more for you to do but you got to keep your mouth shut.”
She dangled the note in front of him and Ginger snatched it, kissing it with glee.
“I luv ya! Can yer drop me off at Carnaby Street? Gonna get a new pair o’ shoes.”
It was a short cab ride from Green Street to North Audley Street, then round the top of Grosvenor Square onto Brook Street. The taxi crossed Regent Street onto Great Marlborough Street, where Ginger got out. Janet watched him run past the big posh store Liberty, heading toward Carnaby Street. She had another look inside the envelope, then leaned back and smiled.
“Easy money.”
She started humming to herself. “Angie, Angie . . .”
It was early on Sunday morning and DS Lawrence and Professor Martin’s qualified assistant, who had been working alongside him on numerous cases, were walking into the mortuary. Angus McLean knew how to deal with the garrulous pathologist. He admired him and had learned a vast amount while working with him. Angus also knew that he was earmarked to take over when the old boy retired, which would be in the not too distant future. Angus was rake thin with horn-rimmed glasses. He had come from working-class roots but his sharp intellect and diligence had brought him to Martin’s attention. He had been very hesitant about agreeing to meet with Lawrence and was worried that Professor Martin would not approve.
DS Lawrence had been equally reluctant to ask for the favor, but repeatedly said that he just wanted a second opinion and told Angus that he was not required to do anything unethical. They were given access to the chill section at the mortuary by an assistant mortician, whom Lawrence reassured by saying that he was welcome to remain with them as it was just going to be a quick appraisal of the non-suspicious death notice. The body had not yet been released for burial, so there was nothing untoward about the visit.
Angus looked at Lawrence. “OK, let me take a look at her.”
Jane stripped her bed and put fresh sheets on, leaving the used ones in the laundry bag for the cleaners to collect the following day. She then went to the laundry room and did her washing and ironing. Back in her room she hung up her pressed shirt and put her clean underwear in the drawer, gave her shoes a quick polish, and then made her way out to pick up a newspaper.
She was surprised to see DS Lawrence entering the building. He hurried toward her and asked if he could have a few words as he needed to give her an update. They went into the quiet room and although the TV set was on the room was empty.
“I’ve just come from the mortuary, and want to talk a few things over with you. First you need to understand that when you have a non-suspicious death it is not unusual that a detailed PM is not required. It’s not exactly cutting corners, but it’s not as in-depth as for a suspicious murder.”
“Yes, you discussed this before.”
“Right, but if there had been a very detailed PM it would entail the removal of the scalp and the face being lifted, to check the frontal wound.
“I am not inferring that there was anything incorrect about the report. But if the assumption was that the blow to her forehead from the taps was not that heavy or deep but enough to maybe render the victim unconscious, I would have taken steps to ensure there was no other head wound.”
“How do you mean?”
“She had very thick hair. There was a considerable amount of blood in the bath water, which makes it obvious that she was alive in the water as she continued bleeding. Her hair was still wet when her body was brought into the mortuary and dried by the time the PM took place.”
“Are you saying that there could have been another wound?”
“Possibly. But this would only have been discovered if the victim’s head was shaved. Again, I am not saying that the PM was fast-tracked, as this is often the case when you have a coroner’s report stating that it was a non-suspicious death.”
Jane cocked her head to one side. “It would be interesting to find out, but we don’t have much time as the family have been given clearance for the burial. Do you think you have enough evidence to get a second PM done?”
Lawrence ran his hands through his hair.
“No, we don’t have enough evidence . . . Also I don’t want to get my friend in any trouble as his information was off the record and Professor Martin probably won’t be happy. If anyone could prove another PM should be done it would be the old boy himself.”
“So what do you suggest we do?”
Lawrence was becoming increasingly concerned. “Our problem is this: if we believe Barry Dawson was involved then we would have to prove that he did have time to get out of the hospital, kill his wife and then return to work to make the phone calls to give himself an alibi.”
Jane could feel Lawrence’s hesitancy, and was unsure what to say to him. He continued.
“Also, we have to consider the possibility that someone else killed Shirley Dawson, and if so who and for what reason?”
“Well, maybe it could have been the woman who visited her? Or, if she was having an affair, could there be another suspect? I mean, if we believe that Shirley buzzed someone in, it’s likely that she knew them.”
“Yes, but if it was Barry he would have had his own front door key.”
Jane sighed. They were getting nowhere and had nothing to support their possible motives. Lawrence stood up and Jane sensed what was coming.
“I have to tread very carefully, Jane . . . if I am wrong, if we both are, then this could really get us into deep water. I think we should just call it quits because I am not prepared to jeopardize my career and be put back in uniform.”
“Is Dawson back at work at the hospital?” Jane asked.
Lawrence shrugged. Using the page on which he had sketched Shirley’s head to demonstrate the wounds he jotted down his phone number and address.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you sleep on it? If you think of anything then call me, but I’m not going any further with this. I’m sorry . . .”
Jane smiled, hiding her disappointment. “Yes, maybe you’re right.”
They walked out together and she headed up the stairs to her room.
She sat on her bed and stared at the sketch and was about to toss it into the waste bin. She had been so excited as she had been the one to instigate the possibility that Shirley Dawson was a murder victim. She knew DS Lawrence had been of the same opinion but he had now decided against trying to prove it. The small sketch had no face but if she closed her eyes she could see Shirley, her eyes wide open, her hair floating in the bloody bath water. Jane recalled what it had felt like to lift her lifeless body out of the bath and wrap her in the plastic sheet.
She had made up her mind. Even if Paul Lawrence wanted to walk away, she could not. It was not a question of proving that she was right but of wanting justice for Shirley Dawson.
It took over an hour for her to get to St. Thomas’ Hospital and she went directly to the porter’s room. She was told that, due to his recent absence from the wards, Barry Dawson was on a weekend shift and was working in the A&E department. Jane made her way to A&E and eventually spotted Barry Dawson pushing an empty wheelchair from a curtained booth.
“Mr. Dawson . . .”
Barry turned, surprised to see her. Jane walked beside him and asked if they could talk privately. Barry hesitated before checking the time and saying that he would be on a tea break in ten minutes and could join her in the small coffee bar attached to the department.
It was a good fifteen minutes before he showed up. The coffee bar was closed and the shutters were pulled down to the counter. Barry sat down in a chair opposite her and apologized for keeping her waiting, explaining that it had taken a while to get a patient up to a ward.
Jane had her notebook open and thanked him for agreeing to see her, explaining t
hat she simply wanted to double-check a few things with him. She discussed his alibi and how he had called home to talk to Shirley as he had been concerned about her.
“That’s right. As I told you, she had said that she wasn’t feeling well. We had this arrangement that I called her at the same time every morning when I was on early shift. When she didn’t answer I was worried, so I called my mother because she was going over to the flat to look after Heidi. But my mother said she had to wait in for an engineer to fix her washing machine. So I tried Shirley again, but still got no answer. That’s when I decided to go home.”
Jane nodded and jotted down what he had said.
“So, did you need permission to leave the hospital?”
“By rights, yes . . . but I had a break coming up so I just left.”
“So what time exactly did you get to your flat?”
“About eleven to eleven thirty. Then I found her in the bath and went to the neighbors to call for help.”
“Why didn’t you use the payphone on the landing at your flat?”
“I was in a terrible state . . . I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Can you describe exactly what happened after your visit to the neighbor?”
“I’ve told you all this . . . I don’t understand why you’re asking me to tell you all over again.”
“Just to make sure the report is correct and that your statement can be verified, Mr. Dawson.”
“I went next door. Mr. Cook said he would go up and see Shirley and he brought Heidi back as she was crying, although when I left she had been sleeping in her playpen. We called the police and an ambulance, and then my mother came . . .”
“When you went home and found Shirley in the bath, did you touch her? Move her at all? Even feel her pulse to see if she was alive?”
“No . . . no . . . I knew she was dead. I didn’t need to touch her, I knew it. I work here, so I know the signs. I was in complete shock.”
Jane closed her notebook.
“Thank you. That all seems to tally up. And there was no one else in your flat, is that correct?”
He leaned back in his seat.
“No, I let myself in and the bathroom door was open. I called out for Shirley and then went in and found her.”
Jane put the lid on her pen. Having watched numerous interrogations by now, she gave the appearance of being satisfied with Barry’s statements. He pushed his chair back, presuming the meeting was over.
“Just one more thing, Mr. Dawson . . . I showed you the photographs of this woman.”
Jane slid the pictures of the woman whom Barry had previously denied knowing toward him. He had ripped them up but was unaware that Jane had the negatives and had made copies, which were now being laid down, facing toward him, on the table.
“We now know that these are photographs of Katrina Harcourt.”
Barry turned away; his knee was jerking.
“We are also aware that Katrina worked here at St. Thomas’. It’s therefore a bit confusing for us to find photographs of her on a reel of film taken from a camera that was in your flat. You also denied that the camera belonged to you. So can you explain why you have three photographs of Katrina Harcourt?”
Barry was becoming agitated.
“If you didn’t take these photographs, and say that the camera didn’t belong to you, could it have been your wife’s? Is it possible that she took the pictures?”
He shrugged.
“If you look at the photographs, Mr. Dawson, they appear to have been taken when Miss Harcourt was not aware of being photographed. Would Shirley have any reason to want to take pictures of Katrina?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mr. Dawson, I think you need to start being honest with me. I’ve spoken to Brenda, who shared a room with Katrina, and she said that Katrina was having an affair with someone. It was quite a heated relationship and had been going on for some time.”
He turned away and sighed. “All right . . . I’m sorry, I was sort of freaked out. The truth is . . . I was seeing her.”
“Did Shirley find out?”
“No . . . no, she did not. I had finished with Katrina . . . it was just a stupid fling, and I regretted it. I told Katrina I didn’t want to see her again and then she left the hospital.”
“Just a fling? But you bought her a ring, didn’t you?” Jane was flying by her shirt tail because she had no proof that Barry had purchased a ring, let alone given it to Katrina, but she recalled what Brenda had said and decided to see if she could get a reaction from him.
“You know, Barry, I am really trying to piece this all together, but some of it just doesn’t make sense. You deny that you own the camera, and at first you refused to admit that you identified Katrina in the photographs.”
“Yes . . . yes, I did.”
“Why did you lie about it?”
“I was just trying to cover up the fact that maybe Shirley had found out after all . . . But I swear to God, she never said anything to me. Now I’ll never be able to explain because she’s dead . . .”
“So Barry, you now admit that you were having an affair with Katrina? To me it sounds like more than just a fling, because you bought her a ring, didn’t you?”
“OK, yes, I did . . . but it was to sort of finish the situation, you know, say it was over and that I loved my wife and didn’t want to lose her or Heidi.”
“I see. And Katrina just accepted the end of the affair, did she?”
“Yes. She decided to leave the hospital and get a job elsewhere.”
“Mr. Dawson, I don’t want to sound rude . . . I’ve not only seen these photographs of Katrina, but I’ve also seen a photograph of her in the nurses’ bay. She’s a very attractive woman. According to Brenda, the girl she shared a room with, she always dressed very beautifully, was rather sophisticated, and I am sure would not like the description of your relationship being ‘just a fling.’”
“Yes, she was very beautiful, and classy with it, and I have to admit that to begin with I was amazed that she would even be interested in someone like me. Then I found out that she put herself about a bit . . . I wasn’t the only one.”
“Can you give me the name of anyone else at the hospital that she was seeing?” Jane asked.
“No, I can’t! She had her own private life that was nothing to do with me. To be honest I had wanted to end it much sooner, but she could get aggressive and told me that I would be very sorry if I broke up with her, and that there would be serious consequences. All the lies I’ve told were to cover up my shame about betraying Shirley . . . I was petrified that Katrina was going to report me to the hospital. I was never serious about us—as I just said, it was a stupid affair. She put it about and there were plenty of others having sex with her.”
“And you’re certain Shirley didn’t find out? I mean, if this camera doesn’t belong to you and was found in your flat, the photographs must have been taken by Shirley. Was she going to confront you?”
“No! I told you, she didn’t know . . . But maybe she had found out and that’s why she was so anxious lately . . .”
“I see. So when you say Shirley wasn’t feeling well when you left for work, was it perhaps because, as you’ve just suggested, she was very anxious because she had found out? And that was why you were so worried when she didn’t answer the phone for your usual call?”
“Yes . . . yes, I admit that now . . . that’s why I was so concerned.”
“I don’t quite understand this, Barry. You knew that your mother was going to babysit Heidi that day because Shirley had a hair appointment in the morning?”
Barry was sweating and was clearly feeling very uncomfortable.
“Yes, but my mother wasn’t answering the phone there either. So then I called my mother at her house, and she told me that she hadn’t been able to babysit because there was something wrong with her washing machine.”
“So, on previous occasions when Shirley had a hair appointment did she ever take Heidi with he
r? Your mother wasn’t concerned when she tried to contact Shirley and didn’t get an answer—she presumed that your wife had taken your daughter with her to the hair salon.”
Barry was visibly flustered.
“Listen, you’re making this stuff up. I’m not going to answer any more of your questions.”
He pushed his chair back so hard that it toppled over. He picked it up, slamming it back down, then leaned toward Jane.
“You’ve got no right.”
Barry walked away, his hands clenched into fists. Jane picked up the photographs and slipped them back into her notebook. If she had any suspicions before that Barry Dawson had played some part in the death of his wife, she was now even more concerned. It was imperative for her to find Katrina Harcourt.
Jane didn’t feel it was necessary to talk to Brenda again, but as she turned the corner in the corridor she bumped straight into her and decided it was too good an opportunity to miss. Brenda didn’t recognize her, and Jane had to repeat her name and show her warrant card. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been on duty since the crack of dawn. The Ward Sister is off at her son’s wedding, and we’re down two nurses . . . it’s been chaos here.”
“I’m sorry to ask this of you, Brenda, but it is a police matter. I wonder if you could possibly retrieve Katrina Harcourt’s records for me?”
Brenda sighed. “Well, you’re in luck—I’ve got the Ward Sister’s keys. Whether or not they’ll still have Katrina’s records on file is another story, but I’ll have a look.”
Jane waited patiently outside the small office for ten minutes until Brenda reappeared.
“Sorry I’ve taken so long, but I had to go through drawer after drawer in the filing cabinets . . . I can’t let you take this away, but you can have a look at it here.” Brenda handed Jane Katrina’s file.
“If you want my opinion, either she falsified her CV, or the high demand for nurses enabled her to continue working via an agency. If you read that report she was totally ill-equipped to be on any hospital rota for supply nursing staff.”
“Thank you very much for this, Brenda.”
Hidden Killers Page 24