Hidden Killers

by Lynda La Plante

  “Yes, we retired here quite a few years ago now. My husband and I really enjoy bracing walks on the beach, and they have a very good theater in Brighton with some excellent productions.”

  “I’d love to see the rest of the house, Mrs. Harcourt . . . it’s so beautifully furnished.”

  “Oh, let me show you around. When we moved there was a lot of work to do. My husband is a real one for putting up new wallpaper. He’s very accomplished, and we like to have everything clean and fresh.”

  They went up the stairs. Mrs. Harcourt was so sweet and proud of her flock wallpaper, and new stair carpet.

  “It must be nice to have your daughter home.”

  “Yes, she comes and goes but right now she’s looking for a new position. So until she finds one we’re happy she’s here.”

  “I suppose there is a very good train service between here and London.”

  “Yes, but she has her own car, and she doesn’t like to use the train when she needs to go to London for an interview, as they are always so crowded. She had a very important interview the other day and I had to put the alarm on to make sure she was up in time as she had to leave at the crack of dawn.”

  “Oh, can you remember what day that was, Mrs. Harcourt?”

  “Yes I do, it was the seventh of October, because it was just two days after those awful IRA bombings in Guildford. She rang me from the petrol station on the roundabout by the A23, where my husband has an account, and she asked for permission to fill her car up because she’d left her purse at home.”

  “Do you recall what time that was?”

  “Well, now you’re asking me . . . I think it was before seven o’clock in the morning.”

  Jane was very complimentary as they toured the house. She was shown the master bedroom and then Mrs. Harcourt showed her Katrina’s bedroom. It was a large room at the front of the house, with bay windows and fitted wardrobes.

  “Oh good heavens, what a lovely room! Are those all fitted wardrobes?”

  “Yes, we got a local carpenter in and he made them to my husband’s specifications. He and Katrina are both very particular about things.”

  Mrs. Harcourt opened one of the wardrobe doors, saying that Katrina liked her clothes to be color coordinated. Jane looked inside and glanced down at the shoe rack.

  “She must never want to leave! I am so impressed . . . I wish I had a wardrobe this size.”

  Jane knew they had no search warrant, and spotting a pair of very high-heeled patent leather shoes was more than she could have anticipated finding.

  As they were about to leave the bedroom Jane noticed on the dressing table a large framed photograph of Katrina in a wedding gown with a tiara and a beautiful long veil. She turned to Mrs. Harcourt.

  “Oh, Katrina was married?”

  Mrs. Harcourt picked up the photo. “Sadly the wedding never took place. Katrina ordered this gown from Ossie Clark—he’s a very famous fashion designer—and the gown was satin chiffon Botticelli print. She had seen it in a fashion magazine and ordered it to be made especially. It was very expensive. Ossie Clark also designed her shoes and the bridesmaids’ gowns.”

  “Good heavens, that must have cost a fortune.”

  Mrs. Harcourt replaced the photograph. “It did, believe you me. My husband couldn’t afford it as he’s retired. So Katrina foolishly took out a bank loan. She’d ordered cars and booked a reception at the Grand Hotel in Brighton. It was just awful because she ended up in debt.”

  “Is she still paying it off?” asked Jane.

  “Yes, she’s also paying for the lease on her car. I don’t know how she manages it, because you don’t get paid much as a nurse, do you?”

  “Going to such lengths, a wedding gown and all the arrangements, must’ve been dreadful. Was it Katrina’s decision not to go ahead with the wedding?”

  Mrs. Harcourt hesitated and looked toward the doorway as if afraid she would be overheard. She lowered her voice. “No, it wasn’t Katrina’s decision, it was her fiancé’s, although we had never met him. I don’t even know if they were officially engaged, and to be honest I felt very concerned at the time because she’d only recently met him. He apparently just said he had no intention of getting married and didn’t want to see her.”

  “That must have been dreadful.”

  “Yes, yes, it was.” Mrs. Harcourt rubbed her hands. “It was humiliating. I never thought she’d recover and truthfully she had no one but herself to blame. And now she’s still in debt, which is why she has to live at home with us. She has nowhere to go.”

  By the time Jane returned to the drawing room, Katrina was standing by the fireplace telling Lawrence that she had been almost suicidal when her engagement to a young doctor had fallen apart.

  “I was devastated. I mean, it was a bolt out of the blue . . . one moment I was choosing my wedding dress and the next he had the audacity to call me and tell me it had been too much of a rush and he was undecided. Undecided? . . . I had booked the church and Mummy was organizing the reception! It gave me a total nervous breakdown.”

  Katrina hardly acknowledged that Jane had returned and was very tearful, acting as though she was a wronged woman. Jane picked up her notebook and jotted down “Katrina in London October 7th —patent leather shoes in wardrobe,” before discreetly handing it to Lawrence.

  Lawrence glanced down at Jane’s note and wrote a quick message before handing the notebook back to her. He watched as Katrina sat down on the sofa, acting like the bewildered, jilted bride as she shook her head and sighed.

  “So you have to understand that when Barry admitted to me he was married it felt as though it was all happening again. If you consider the lies I’ve been told and the promises I’ve been made I would never want to see his common little wife, let alone want to have anything to do with her. And I really don’t care if she drowned. All I care about is that nobody is ever going to betray me again.”

  Lawrence stood up and quietly thanked Katrina for co-operating and for answering their questions.

  “I am sorry if this has been distressing for you.”

  Jane stood uncertainly and joined him at the drawing room door. She thanked Katrina and then followed Lawrence out and into the hall. Mrs. Harcourt was in the kitchen, as Lawrence smiled and said they would show themselves out. They didn’t speak until they reached his parked car and got inside.

  “Why didn’t you let me show her the photographs?” Jane asked.

  “It’s called ‘keeping your powder dry.’ I guarantee we will be interviewing Miss Katrina Harcourt again, and this time with a search warrant. With what you discovered in her room I think we have enough leverage for me to talk to DCI Shepherd first thing in the morning.”

  Lawrence reversed in a three point turn before heading back toward the seafront.

  “If it’s OK with you, Jane, I think that I should talk to Shepherd alone. I don’t want there to be any negative repercussions on you and how much you’re investigating without his authority.”

  Jane stared out of the window.

  “Do you really think we have enough evidence? I feel as though we should have questioned her further.”

  “Listen, you had confirmation from her mother that on the morning Shirley Dawson died, Katrina left Brighton early in the morning and drove to London. You also saw a pair of patent leather stilettos in her wardrobe. If we had continued to question her, or asked about the day she drove to London, or her shoes, all without a warrant, we could give her time to come up with an alibi, or get rid of the shoes. What we don’t need is for her to hear any alarm bells ringing.”

  “Well, she certainly kept changing her story. One minute denying she was having a relationship with Barry Dawson, the next admitting it. But do we have a strong enough motive?”

  “We do. It was when she said that Barry had promised to marry her, and told her he owned his flat. Plus, her mother said that she was in debt, so money is an incentive, and a motive to get rid of Shirley.”

  Jane
sat quietly, taking on board everything Lawrence said. She still felt uncertain about whether Barry Dawson and Katrina were in on it together, or if Katrina had acted alone. As if reading her mind Lawrence turned toward her and smiled.

  “I think they worked this together. If we can get that next-door neighbor to identify the shoes we can verify that at 8 a.m. on the day Shirley’s body was found Katrina was there. It’s a question of the time line. We are told Barry Dawson was seen at the hospital after 10 a.m. and there is a witness who is certain they saw him. But it could be that Barry came home earlier than he has stated, met up with Katrina, and both of them killed Shirley.”

  Jane remained silent. They drove back the way they had come, and she was thankful that this time the hood wasn’t down.

  “Can I just ask you something? At first Katrina was very scathing about Barry, being just a lowly porter. I mean, she is quite stunning, she’s obviously well educated, and her mother was a sweetheart, proudly showing me all her husband’s prowess with the décor and fitted wardrobes. It doesn’t quite add up that she would go to such dreadful lengths to be a partner in crime with Barry, murdering his wife?”

  Lawrence immediately replied that it was obvious to him. Katrina had recently been jilted at the altar and had been dismissed for her unprofessional conduct on several previous occasions. She was desperate, in debt, and had no job.

  “Yes, I am aware of that. But do you think she would really be prepared to be a party to murder?”

  “Yes, I do. I think she is a very dangerous woman with a psychopathic fury—did you hear what she said about the fact that she didn’t care if Shirley Dawson had drowned, all she cared about was that nobody was ever going to betray her again, or stop her from getting what she wants? In this case it was Barry Dawson. If he wasn’t a pawn then they planned it together. If I am successful in getting a more detailed PM, maybe we can prove it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jane arrived at the station at eight-thirty the following morning and went straight to the incident room. DI Gibbs was already in his office, which struck her as unusual, and he glanced over at her as she checked for any instructions from the DCI. She presumed DCI Shepherd would already be re-interviewing the suspects. Gibbs was a mess and obviously very hungover if not still under the influence of alcohol.

  “Is everything all right, Spence?”

  “Can you get me a coffee, please, Jane?”

  “Do you want the canteen brew, or for me to get a takeaway? There are lots of new coffee bars opening up around Covent Garden.”

  “I just want a fuckin’ strong black coffee, Tennison, there’s no need for you to schlepp out of the station, all right?”

  Rolling her eyes, Jane went up to the canteen and, as requested, brought back as strong a mug of black coffee as she could get. Gibbs pulled a face when he tasted it, saying that she hadn’t sugared it, and he went out to B Relief to use their sugar bag.

  “I collared the bag slasher in broad daylight, right outside the big John Lewis . . . caught him about to rob a teenager. As I suspected, he’s a junkie with a sheet as long as my arm.”

  “Congratulations!” Jane said, sitting at a desk.

  “Message came in for you from the duty sergeant at Hackney. A woman, a Mrs. Allard, left her number for you to call her. I didn’t tell DCI Shepherd that you were on a jaunt to Brighton with blondie yesterday . . . I hope you’re not sleuthing around on something that you have no business working on.”

  Jane didn’t have time to explain as DS Lawrence walked in but she made a note in her notebook, puzzled why Mrs. Allard was calling her.

  “Morning, Spence, sorry I woke you up early. Now we need to talk to DCI Shepherd to get a second PM done. We’re running out of time as Shirley Dawson’s body is going to be released today for burial.”

  “So what exactly have you got?” Jane referred to her notebook.

  “Barry Dawson was having an affair with Katrina Harcourt—she worked at the same hospital before she was dismissed. We believe that Shirley Dawson found out about their affair, and possibly followed them to take photographs of them together to confront him.”

  Gibbs scratched his head.

  “Hang on, hang on. This isn’t hard evidence, it’s just supposition.”

  “We also have confirmation from Katrina Harcourt’s mother that on the day Shirley Dawson’s body was found, Katrina left Brighton at 6 a.m. and drove to London,” Lawrence said impatiently.

  Gibbs laughed.

  “But you don’t have any proof that she was actually at the Dawsons’ flat? Even a parking ticket would be useful . . .”

  “She has a pair of patent leather stiletto shoes that fit the description given by the neighbor, Mrs. Cook.”

  “Jane, she saw a pair of fucking shoes, not who was wearing them! Was there anything particularly unusual about the shoes?”

  “No, they were just plain black patent leather shoes, with stiletto heels . . .”

  “. . . Like how many thousands of pairs sold in London? You would be laughed out of court if your main witness for the prosecution was a pair of bloody shoes!”

  Lawrence sat on top of the desk beside Gibbs, running his hands through his blond hair.

  “All right, what if I was to tell you that, on a purely gut feeling, Shirley Dawson was murdered? I’ve been concerned from day one about the position she was found in the bath tub, and there are other inconsistencies that Jane came up with from their flat. I think Shirley Dawson was murdered, and I think Katrina Harcourt had something to do with it.”

  There was a pause as Gibbs digested what he had just heard. He looked from Lawrence to Jane.

  “And you have the same gut feeling, do you, Jane?”

  “Yes, Spence, I do.”

  “And you reckon Barry Dawson is also in the frame for it? But he’s got an alibi, hasn’t he? He has witnesses who saw him making phone calls at the hospital?”

  Jane was about to reply when Lawrence got up from the desk.

  “I think we can break that alibi, but we have to have a second PM, and I’m going to need Shepherd to give us the go-ahead.”

  Again Gibbs hesitated, then walked back toward his office.

  “OK . . . you’d better go and find him then.”

  DI Moran was feeling very impatient. He had been in to the Hackney incident room twice looking for DC Edwards. Eventually a clerk had arrived to start work and explained to Moran that Edwards had gone home early the previous night as he had a high temperature and his cold had turned into bronchitis. She went over to her in-tray, saying that she had a couple of memos that Edwards wanted her to pass on to him. Delving through the pile of paperwork she pulled out two sheets, clipped together.

  “He’s been making inquiries into any cases that had a similar MO to Peter Allard’s, sir. I really felt that he should have gone home earlier—he didn’t stop sneezing and was passing his germs all around the office. Anyway, just before he left he contacted the police division in Maidstone . . .”

  “Maidstone? I told him to focus on local areas.”

  “Apparently that’s where Peter Allard and his wife lived five years previously, sir, before he took over his father’s taxi and came back to live in Walthamstow.”

  “Christ! You ask these young guys to do something simple . . . What the hell is he going that far back for?”

  “I don’t know, sir, you’ll have to ask him. He’s underlined the name ‘Susie Luna,’ but I’ve no idea what that means.”

  “I’ll have to wait until he gets back. Meanwhile, I’ve got a situation—a woman’s been pushed under a bus outside the Pembridge Estate. Can you ask DC Ashton to get a squad car—”

  “Sorry, sir, but he’s not in today,” the clerk interrupted. “His new baby’s got a very bad rash and his wife needs him to drive her to the doctor. You see, she’s not breastfeeding, she’s using formula milk and they often get an adverse reaction to that . . .”

  Moran raised his eyebrows.

  “S
ee if you can get a plonk to drive me to the Pembridge then.”

  Jane was at her desk typing up a lengthy report on all the latest information she had gathered over the weekend. DS Lawrence had been in with DCI Shepherd for over half an hour. Edith was moaning about the stack of work she had to do, lodging the complaints that the market stallholders had passed to the station.

  Lawrence rushed in and went over to Jane’s desk.

  “I’ve twisted DCI Shepherd’s arm and he’s given me the OK to get a second PM on Shirley Dawson. Prof Martin has agreed to come in after lunch. In the meantime, you’d better get over to the mortuary as Barry Dawson and his mother are due there to arrange the removal of the body for burial. I have some business to deal with in the lab, but I’ll get over there as soon as I’m free. Just fend them off, and don’t indicate that we are in anyway suspicious until Prof Martin has done his job. I’ll take it up with the coroner. No matter what we think, we might just have to walk away . . . understand?”

  Jane nodded and pulled out her typed report.

  “DCI Shepherd wants your full report,” Lawrence added, “and he wants it from every angle so don’t miss anything out. Cover everything—he wasn’t all that happy about that trip yesterday.”

  “I’ve just finished it, if you want to read it over?”

  “Sorry, I don’t have time, I’m needed at the lab.” Lawrence hurried out and Jane stood up to take the report in to Shepherd. Gibbs appeared at his office doorway.

  “What’s going on, Tennison?”

  “Oh, we’ve been given clearance for a second PM on Shirley Dawson.”

  Edith stopped typing and turned to stare at Jane.

  “DS Lawrence instigated it, Edith, as he reckoned there were some discrepancies in the non-suspicious death report from the coroner. So he’s organizing another inquiry.”

  “So what exactly is your involvement?”

  “Well, I was on the scene, that’s all.” Jane hurried out.

  Edith pursed her lips. “She needs taking down a peg or two . . . wasn’t ever like that in my day, you know . . . straight from being a probationary officer into plain clothes. She’s going to get a smack around the chops from DCI Shepherd—he was asking where she was earlier.”