Hidden Killers

by Lynda La Plante

  “Did someone tell you that Barry was married, so you then brought it up with him? Or did he just come out with it and say ‘Look here, this has got to end as I am a married man and have a family’?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember? Well, that’s very strange. I mean, here we have photographs of you that were taken when you were unaware. One in the park, maybe two in the park . . . one you can’t recall where you were . . . but you’re wearing different coats. So these might have been meetings with Mr. Dawson, witnessed by his wife and taken as proof he was having an affair, do you agree with that?”

  “It’s possible, but if you are trying to get me to admit that she approached me or that I met up with her, then prove it. I never met her . . . I never went to their home.”

  “Did he promise to marry you, like your previous lover, the doctor?”

  Shepherd glanced toward Jane and inclined his head slightly. Jane coughed and Katrina swiveled around to look at her. She said nothing, smirked and turned back again. DCI Shepherd changed the subject and raised his voice.

  “You knew he owned his flat, which was worth a considerable amount of money, and believed he had every intention of selling it to finance your future together, especially as you were in debt due to losing a considerable amount of money paying for wedding photographs and bridal outfits that were never worn.”

  Jane could see Katrina crossing and uncrossing her legs as Shepherd continued, in his unnerving, quiet way, to put the pressure on.

  “So when exactly did you find out it was all lies, that he had no intention of ever marrying you, that there was no future, and no intention of selling his home because he loved his wife?”

  “I do not recall exactly how I found out, but when I did I confronted him and he admitted that he had lied and was ashamed.”

  “But you must have been angry. He was the second man to let you down, and this time he was, as you described, ‘just a porter,’ not even a qualified doctor.”

  “I wasn’t angry, just upset that I had made the mistake of trusting him.”

  Shepherd glanced at Jane and again she gave a light cough. Katrina turned to glare at her.

  “But you are known to have quite a volatile temper, aren’t you? And you do skirt the truth, Miss Harcourt, because I am aware that you did not leave the hospital because of your emotional turmoil about discovering that Mr. Dawson had lied to you. Your contract was in actual fact terminated, and this had occurred numerous times before—you were accused of unprofessional conduct, specifically toward dementia patients at—”

  Katrina stood up and Shepherd immediately gestured, calmly and quietly, for her to sit down again. Then he spoke quite sharply.

  “Please, Miss Harcourt, remain seated. If you refuse I will have you removed from my office. You may disagree with accusations of unprofessional conduct but we do have them from your previous employers. I apologize if what I am saying is distressing but I am trying to ascertain exactly how Shirley Dawson died.”

  “If you can prove that I am lying then go ahead. I never met the woman and I was never at their flat. All I know is that she drowned in her bath.”

  “Could you please tell us exactly where you were on Monday the seventh of October?”

  “This is absolutely ridiculous! I have already explained where I was—I was at home, and my mother can confirm it.”

  “On the contrary, Miss Harcourt. Your mother, when asked where you were on that date, recalled clearly that you had left home very early in the morning. And the reason that she remembered that you had gone to London was because you needed petrol for the journey, and asked permission to use your father’s petrol account.”

  Katrina laughed.

  “Listen to me . . . My mother is menopausal, she can’t remember one day from the next. Surely it all makes sense that I had to use my father’s account—I had no money on me and was therefore clearly not planning a long journey to London. I did come to London on a regular basis but I totally deny that I was anywhere near their flat on Monday the seventh of October. If you have a witness that saw me there then put me in an identity parade! I was not there, and have never been to Barry Dawson’s flat . . . and I never met his wife.”

  She sat back in her chair, folding her arms and smiling. Shepherd looked at Jane and yet again she made a soft coughing sound. This time Katrina not only turned to look at her but snapped, “You enjoying looking at my back, are you?”

  Shepherd responded. “I’m sorry if she is unnerving you, Miss Harcourt. WDC Tennison, please come with me.”

  “She’s not unnerving me,” Katrina said, as Jane followed Shepherd out of the room.

  He closed the door behind them and said to Jane, “Go over with me exactly what the neighbor told you about seeing the shoes. I’m not going to bring them up, but she’s a hard nut to crack and I need to get her to admit to going to the Dawsons’ flat.”

  Jane repeated that Mrs. Cook said she had seen whoever wore the shoes pacing back and forth on the pavement, and then heard the front door clicking open.

  Shepherd nodded. “She’s very confident about not being seen entering or, for that matter, leaving the flat. We have no evidence she was in there but I believe she was. I also think they are going to back each other’s story up. You go and talk to DI Gibbs—ask him to leave Dawson alone and make out there is a breakthrough. Let’s see if we can put the pressure on him, and I’ll keep on going with her. Give it ten minutes, then return to my office and take up your seat. But pass me notes . . . scribble anything on them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jane tapped on the glass panel of the interview room door. Gibbs looked up, told the officer to remain with Dawson and stepped out into the corridor to talk to Jane.

  She told him, “So far DCI Shepherd has been unable to break Katrina Harcourt. She is insisting she didn’t go anywhere near Dawson’s flat, but he is certain they are both involved. He wants you to shake Dawson up and act as if Katrina is giving evidence that implicates him, to see if you can unnerve him.”

  “Terrific . . . he’s not shown any break in his original statement, and keeps crying.”

  “Apparently he can bring on the tears. Katrina, in contrast, seems to be almost enjoying herself.”

  Gibbs nodded and was about to walk back into the interview room when Jane tapped his arm.

  “Just a thought . . . all those calls he made from the hospital—if Barry knew his mother was going to be babysitting for Heidi but then couldn’t come because she had to wait for the washing machine engineer, why did he become so anxious when Shirley didn’t answer the phone? Logically it would make sense that she had taken Heidi to the hair salon with her, and he knew she had an appointment.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “If we are going on the assumption that Barry was contacted by Katrina and left the hospital to meet her at his flat, they could have drowned Shirley in the bath . . . But they would have to leave before his mother turned up to babysit.”

  Gibbs ran his hands through his hair anxiously.

  “But this is all supposition . . . We don’t know if either of them were at the flat.”

  “I know we don’t, Spence, but it is a possible scenario. I remember Rita Dawson saying to me that if she’d been on time she would have found Shirley . . . Do you understand, Spence? If Barry Dawson went back to the hospital to secure his alibi, he left his little girl Heidi all on her own.”

  “OK, OK . . . I’ll give it a shot.”

  Jane made copious notes to hand to Shepherd as if there had been a development and returned to his office.

  “Come in, WDC Tennison,” Shepherd said curtly. Jane approached his desk and passed him the notes. Then, turning her back toward Katrina, she whispered, “Please read these, sir . . . it is very important.”

  Shepherd glanced down at her notes and showed no reaction at first. He seemed to be reading every line before a tense expression slowly formed.

  “Excel
lent. Please take your seat, WDC Tennison.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  DI Gibbs took his time settling back in his chair. Dawson was chewing his lips.

  “I am sure you know we are questioning Katrina Harcourt. There appear to be some discrepancies in the timing regarding the phone calls you made when trying to reach Shirley.”

  Dawson shrugged and said defensively that he had been worried because the last time he had seen his wife she had been very nervous, and it was a usual arrangement that he called to check on her at that time in the morning.

  “What time did you leave home to start work at the hospital?”

  “It was the early shift, so I left about six . . . six fifteen.”

  “You have admitted that you were worried about your wife, but did not actually attempt to call her until just after ten o’clock?”

  “I was on duty so I couldn’t call her before that time.”

  “But you did speak to your mother, and she told you that she was unable to babysit as she had a problem with her washing machine?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time did you discover this?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s very simple, Mr. Dawson . . . if you had been able to contact your mother and knew she was no longer able to babysit, why did you not call your wife until a considerable time later?”

  “I was out of change.”

  “So, when eventually you did get the change to call your wife over an hour later, why did you become so alarmed . . . surely she’d gone to her hair appointment?”

  “Because she didn’t answer.”

  “But the logical response would surely have been that if your mother was no longer able to babysit, your wife would have taken your daughter with her to the hair salon?”

  “I wasn’t thinking that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just wasn’t . . . Shirley was not very well when I left.”

  “At six fifteen that morning?”

  “Yes, so I went back home as soon as I could.”

  “Was your concern about your wife because she had found out about your affair with Katrina Harcourt?”

  For the first time Barry was not quite so confident.

  “No . . . that was not the reason.”

  “But she found out, didn’t she?”

  “Well, yes . . . but I had ended it all. I loved my wife and there was no question that we would divorce.”

  “Oh, so that had been a possibility, had it?”

  “No! It was a stupid thing to have done, and I regretted it. It was just a one-night stand and it didn’t mean anything to me.”

  “So Shirley just accepted that you had finished the affair? What about the photographs? When did she take the photographs of Katrina Harcourt?”

  “Before . . . I mean, she suspected and took the pictures to confront me.”

  “Sorry, can we just go back on that? Are you admitting that you did in actual fact know about these photographs?”

  “Yes, all right, yes, I did know, and Shirley told me that she’d seen me with a woman. She didn’t know who she was, and I admitted to her that I had been very stupid, and that I regretted it and never wanted to hurt her.”

  “On the morning Shirley died what time did Katrina Harcourt call you at the hospital?”

  Dawson pressed his body back into the chair and started shaking his head.

  “I never received any call from her . . . as I keep on telling you, it was over between us. I have told you the truth! I called home and was worried about Shirley, so I left the hospital.”

  Gibbs felt as though he was getting nowhere, even with the scenario Jane had put forward. Basically they had no evidence to counteract Dawson’s original statement.

  DCI Shepherd was equally frustrated at going over the same ground. Katrina remained very controlled and uncooperative. She still insisted that she had never met Shirley Dawson and had never been to the Dawsons’ flat.

  “So you are admitting that you were having an affair with Barry Dawson, but you say that you have never visited his home?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you react when Barry told you that it was over between you?”

  “How do you expect me to react? I was very hurt. I would say that has to be rather obvious. He made me promises and then confessed that he had lied.”

  “That he was not only married but had fathered a little girl?”

  “Yes,” Katrina almost hissed.

  “And you just accepted that you had been treated as a casual sex partner, and that he had no intention of leaving his wife for you.”

  “That is pretty succinct . . . but what alternative did I have?”

  “Divorce?”

  “She wouldn’t consider it.”

  Katrina knew as soon as she had said it that she had made a mistake and Shepherd was on to it. Jane listened intently, observing how he had cast his line and was now reeling it in.

  “So you did discuss the possibility of Mr. Dawson divorcing his wife?”

  Katrina was on edge for the first time, patting the hem of her pencil skirt as it rested on her knee.

  “I think he might have suggested it . . . but I can’t recall, because at the time I was shocked.”

  “So, Mr. Dawson suggested it but Shirley wouldn’t agree? Then there would be the matter of custody of their daughter, and obviously if they were to contemplate a divorce then would Shirley agree to move out of their flat?”

  Katrina was tight lipped.

  “We never even discussed that as a possibility. This is really starting to be very tedious . . .”

  “When you were let into Mr. Dawson’s flat on Monday the seventh of October, did you confront Shirley regarding your relationship with her husband?”

  Katrina had the audacity to laugh, shaking her head and threading her fingers through her long curls.

  “This is preposterous! I was never in that flat, and I never met Shirley Dawson.”

  Shepherd looked over Katrina’s shoulder at Jane. She could sense that he knew he had lost his catch, and for the first time he snapped angrily.

  “What time did you call Mr. Dawson to tell him that you had struck his wife? Because that is what happened, isn’t it, Miss Harcourt? You rang the doorbell and Shirley buzzed you inside the building.”

  Katrina lifted her eyes to the ceiling, laughing.

  “I am giving you a way out to explain how it happened, Miss Harcourt, that it was never your intention to physically hurt Shirley Dawson,” Shepherd shouted.

  Katrina uncrossed her legs and leaned forward with a faint smile.

  “I was never there, and you have no proof that I was.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Jane was in the CID office with DI Gibbs and DS Lawrence.

  “Right now we have nothing to implicate either one of them,” Gibbs said.

  Jane replied, “Apart from the fact that one or other of them removed that headscarf, and put it into the rubbish bin after Shirley was hit with the red-hot iron.”

  Lawrence was fed up. “We know who was hit, Tennison, we don’t know which one of them did it, and whether or not they were in it together. I’ve taken Katrina’s fingerprints and I’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning for another search of the Dawsons’ flat.”

  Katrina Harcourt and Barry Dawson had been taken back to the cells pending further questioning on suspicion of murder. The duty sergeant was organizing meal trays to be taken to both the prisoners who had been kept separated and not allowed to see or speak to one another. DCI Shepherd had left, true to his usual time-keeping, in order to be at home with his family by 7 p.m.

  “Barry could have left the hospital at 8:30 a.m., arrived home at—”

  Gibbs interrupted.

  “Please, Jane . . . ‘could have’ and ‘might have’ is not good enough . . . we have to find conclusive evidence to prove either one of them killed Shirley. Right now we can’t prove it, and after this afternoon’s questioning
both of them will be lawyered up tomorrow.”

  “What if we don’t find anything?” Jane asked.

  “They’ll walk . . .”

  Lawrence headed out of the room, then paused.

  “You both want a drink? I’m going over to the pub.”

  “Not for me, I need to be on my toes for the next round of questioning,” Gibbs said, walking into his office.

  “What about you, Jane?”

  “No thanks, but could I come to the Dawsons’ flat tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I’ll be there at 7:30 a.m. as I want to be back for the next round of interviews as well as Spencer, but I need a beer right now.”

  After Lawrence had left Jane typed up her report and filed it as the night duty staff took over. She was about to head out when, with a pang of guilt, she remembered Marie Allard. Jane took out her notebook and dialed the number she had tried to call the previous evening.

  Marie jumped as she heard the phone ring. She was in her dressing gown after taking a long bath to calm herself, and the children were asleep. The sound of the phone made her shake. She walked slowly down the stairs, and in the semi-dark hallway the ivory-colored plastic phone looked ominous and threatening as it rang and rang. Marie was afraid to answer it in case it was that awful woman singing “Angie, Angie . . . ,” the dreadful sound of the grating rasping voice. Or it might be her mother-in-law who was putting her nerves on edge with all her questions. She knew it couldn’t be Peter as it was too late, and lights in the cells would already be out.

  Marie reached the last step and stretched her hand out to pick up the receiver and answer.

  Back in the CID office Jane replaced the receiver, having let it ring for ages. Perhaps it was too late to call. She made a mental note to herself to call earlier tomorrow. Marie held the receiver up to her ear and could only hear the dead tone vibrating as the call had been terminated. She started to cry and was soon sobbing uncontrollably. She was so afraid and didn’t have anyone to turn to.