“Did he seem upset?” Sophia asked.
“According to my aide, he suddenly got very quiet and wanted to know if she suffered,” Hardcastle replied. “He didn’t ask how she died.”
“Did your aide tell him it was murder?” Sophia asked.
“I think she did, without going into detail.”
“I have another question,” Sophia interrupted. “Where’s her car? Did anyone check to see if she had a car?”
“We did. According to the neighbor, she didn’t drive. The husband took the car with him to the airport and parked it there. When she had to go somewhere, she took a cab. Oh, and that reminds me, we’re checking all CCTV cameras in the area. There are a few. Hoping to get lucky and find ourselves a picture of either the murderer or the car he drove.”
“And the neighbors? They saw nothing?” Sophia went over to the window above the kitchen sink. “I can see the window next door, whose room is that?”
“It’s the boy’s room, the one who complained about the dog. He says he saw nothing.”
Theo joined her at the kitchen window. Stepping back, he looked into the glass and saw Sophia standing beside him. “If she was murdered in the dark, Helena would’ve been able to see the murderer’s face, and it probably scared her enough to drop the dog food.”
Going over to the patio doors, he looked out.
“The garden backs onto a park,” said DC Hardcastle. “The killer could have jumped the fence and entered the house. He could have hid in the bushes and watched his victim for days.”
Theo nodded. The killer could be watching them now—standing there in the dark bushes, wondering if they were smart enough to catch him. He jumped when he felt a hand touch his right elbow.
“Blackwell? Do you want to see upstairs?” Hardcastle pointed toward the hall door.
“The killer couldn’t have come into the house through the patio doors,” Theo reflected. “The dog was outside when you found him, right?”
“Right.”
“The dog would have laid teeth into him or at least have alerted his mistress to the killer’s presence,” Theo said. “If the dog were in the house, there would have been enough time for her to run for a phone or get a knife. I believe we would have seen more of a struggle. That gives us two options, the killer came into the house after she let the dog out or he was already in the house. With the dog outside, he used that opportunity to kill her. She was obviously surprised and had no time to react. There are so many questions. How did the killer enter the house? Did he have a key? Did he know her and steal a key? Did he break into the house? Why didn’t the dog notice him if the killer was already in the house? Did you check all the rooms?”
“Whoa, slow down, Blackwell,” said Hardcastle. “One question at a time. The sister told us the dog is extremely old, and his senses aren’t what they used to be. It is possible the dog didn’t smell an intruder or see one. We did check the house, no signs of a break-in anywhere. He must have used a key, been let in, or entered through an unlocked door. She worked here at home, so who did she know? An officer is going through her mail. She received a lot of mail, but it’s re-routed to another location. I hope the killer sent her a clue there—perhaps a code. Maybe he mailed it to her fan mail address.”
“Did you find anything interesting upstairs, DC Hardcastle?” asked Sophia.
“Not really. SOCO doesn’t believe the killer went upstairs, but they tested everything.”
“If he was in the house, where was he hiding?” Sophia asked.
Theo watched Sophia tromp through the house. She peeked in all the rooms and closets on the first floor, opening and closing doors as she went. She ran up and down the stairs a couple of times.
“The pantry, closet, and coat closet all have doors,” Sophia reported. “It would be easy to hide behind them. Unfortunately, the doors are old; they all squeak. Can’t get out of them without the possibility of attracting attention. I don’t think he hid upstairs either. The steps squeak when you walk on them. I doubt he went upstairs, not without alerting the dog—even a deaf dog. These steps would really be irritating for a killer trying to remain unnoticed.”
“So, Evans, what are you saying?” Theo asked.
“What I’m getting at,” she said, “is that our killer must have been hiding in the drawing room.”
She walked to the drawing room—the door open wide—flicked on the light and stepped inside. Theo followed her. Along the wall to the left were lines of shelves, floor to ceiling, full of books. She peered behind the door, careful not to touch the door handle. She went to the two bay windows and said, “This curtain could easily hide a man. The moon’s out, but if no lights were on in the room, no one could see in. A man could hide here.” Looking at the area around the window, she searched for footprints and saw nothing.
“Turn off the lights,” she said to Theo, who stood by the door. The lights went off and darkness shrouded the room. The curtains were thick, made of tapestry-like material. “Can you see me?”
“No,” Theo replied, “and if the dog couldn’t smell—”
“You think the killer hid behind the curtain?” Hardcastle asked. Theo flicked on the light again.
“Not certain, but it seems reasonable. Anywhere in this room seems likely.” Pointing to the sofa, she said, “A person could hide behind that.”
“Any ideas yet on how the killer got in, Sherlock?” asked Hardcastle.
“That,” she said, “may take me a few minutes longer.”
After Theo and Sophia had thoroughly examined the crime scene, she said to him, “I’m knackered and hungry. I should go home.”
“Do you need a lift?”
“No, I brought my car.”
He nodded.
“You look as tired as I feel.” She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.
He placed his hand on hers. “Thanks for coming. Sorry we’re not utilizing your skills.”
“That’s all right.” She opened the front door of the house and walked toward her Fiat.
Theo, following, said, “I need a favor. I know this may sound forward but, can I use your extra flat tonight?”
“Of course. I don’t have the keys with me, but you can stop by my flat after you’re done here. You know where I live.”
Chapter 22
After arriving home, Sophia immediately went to the other flat. She collected all her MI5 case files and placed them in the bedroom safe. She erased the whiteboards and password protected her computers. Satisfied her work could not be accessed; she returned to her other flat, made a pot of coffee and started examining the code.
Fifteen minutes later, her buzzer rang. She let Theo into the building.
“I hope you weren’t in bed,” he said when she opened the door.
“No. I was working on the code.” She held up her coffee. “Want some?”
“Love to,” he replied and entered her flat. “So, what does it say?” Theo rummaged through the papers she was working on.
“It says: T-H-E-O-I-S-A-S-T-U-P-I-D-A-R-S-E.”
“What does that mean?”
“Theo is a stupid arse.” She laughed. “No, it doesn’t really say that, but I couldn’t resist. Anyway, I’ve been trying to find a pattern.” Taking her Biro, she counted all the numbers. She wrote down 264. “We should assume,” Sophia said, “that these numbers mean letters, and this is a simple cryptogram. We have to ask, how many numbers make up each letter? We can rule out one number for each since there are only four different numbers. There’s no way he could make words with four letters—there are five vowels alone in the English language. So, we have to assume more than one number for each letter.”
“Okay,” Theo said, leaning forward.
“I added the numbers in code one. There are 264, not including the stars and brackets. Now, let’s say two numbers represent each letter, if we divide 264 by two we get 132, which is evenly divisible. That means that if each letter is two numbers then we have 132 different letters. Th
at seems reasonable. Next I tried three. Let’s say three numbers represent each letter. If we divide 264 by three, we get 88. Also divisible, with 88 different letters in the code.”
She noticed Theo was looking at his mobile. “Have I lost you?”
“No, I was listening. Eighty-eight different letters. Yeah, I understand.”
“All right then, continuing on I divided by four and got 66, five is the first number not evenly divisible at 52.8, and six is 44. I would try seven and higher, but I doubt one letter is represented by seven or more numbers. As of now, the choices I have are two, three, four, and six. Understand?”
Theo ignored the question and took a sip of his steaming cup of coffee.
“Maybe she left the door unlocked,” Sophia said quietly.
“What?”
Sophia rose and stretched her arms high above her head before walking around her living room. “What if she knew her killer? The dog wouldn’t bark if so.”
“Perhaps. We have to consider everything.” He sat back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
While he rested, she retrieved the keys for his suite. “I haven’t had anyone stay there in awhile, but the sheets are clean. There are a few towels in the bathroom, but there’s no food in the fridge.”
“Want to come with me when I interview the boy next door?”
“When do you plan to do that?”
“In a few hours, after I sleep.”
“No, I can’t. I have some other work to take care of.”
Chapter 23
Helena Smithwick’s neighborhood came alive in the daylight. At seven o’clock in the morning, Theo pulled in front of the writer’s house and looked around. Three men with briefcases backed their vehicles out of their drives at the same time. One left his mug of coffee on top of his car and when he reversed, spilled the contents all over the windscreen. Two girls walked down the street smoking in their sleepwear, laughing and talking loudly. An older man, pruning his hedges, gave the girls the evil eye.
“I’ll bet that chap saw something,” Theo said as he locked his vehicle. “I wonder what he told the officers.”
“What chap?” Dorland picked sleep from his eyes and looked around.
“The man is watching what all his neighbors are doing. In fact, I just winked at him and he cut the ear off the rabbit he’s trimming.”
That comment perked Dorland up and he laughed.
Constable Hardcastle, who looked as though he had been homeless for thirty years with his disheveled hair and clothes, thanked Theo for the egg wrap he handed him.
“Has anyone asked that man if he witnessed anything?” Dorland pointed to the nosey neighbor.
“I did,” Hardcastle said. “He was a wealth of information. He suspects three people on his street: the one with the dog that pees in his garden, the one who plays loud music late at night, and the old lady who picked his apples last year. According to him, if you can steal, you can murder.”
“I see. Well, let me know what comes of it.” Dorland shook his head.
Theo didn’t re-enter the house. Instead, he and Dorland went around back to have a peek in the garden. The writer, a talented gardener, had created her own oasis in the middle of London.
Theo said, “It’s impossible to say whether someone has been back here. Look in the dirt: no footprints, or cigarettes, nothing. A lot of evidence showing she had a dog, but no visible human tracks anywhere.”
Walking toward the patio doors, he saw muddy streaks running down the glass near the bottom. He could picture the dog, jumping and barking, trying to get in. Turning around, he had a better view of the neighbor’s window. The boy could easily see the dog from his window.
“Let’s go wake the neighbors, shall we?” Theo said to Dorland, who was picking up a chewed pig’s ear with the tips of his fingers. “Why are you doing that? Put it down, unless you’re still hungry.”
The house next door was almost identical to the victim’s. Theo leaned forward and pressed hard on the bell. It let off a loud chime inside, but the house remained silent. He peeked into the side window nearest the door. A cat stared at him from the hall.
“I hope they’re not away.” Theo rang again. This time he heard the house creak upstairs. He stared at the door, waiting for it to open. “It’s a weekday; they should be getting up soon.”
After a few more minutes, a man opened the door. He stood in classic striped pajamas, running his fingers through his grey hair and squinting at their warrant cards as the sunlight hit him in the face. “Do you people know what time it is? It’s bloody seven in the morning.”
“We’re police officers, Mr.…” Theo looked at his note pad. “Lyons. We’re looking into the murder next door.”
“I already gave my statement to the police.”
“I’m aware of that and thank you. Actually, we have some questions we would like to ask whoever occupies the window on the second floor facing your neighbor’s house.”
“That’s my son Eric’s room. He’s sleeping at the moment.”
“Mr. Lyons,” Theo said, placing his foot against the door, “if you were expecting us to go, I’m sorry. I don’t rise this early to visit people for my health. The woman next door has been murdered. And yours is the sort of callous attitude a murderer would display. Shall I add you to my list of suspects?”
“All right.” The man stepped inside, allowing them to enter. “I’ll try and wake Eric. Sit here.” He pointed to some chairs that decorated the sitting room. They complied.
Once Mr. Lyons reached the top of the stairs, the stampede began. Theo and Dorland listened as the wife angrily asked who would be calling so early, and Theo strained to hear the whispered response. They heard footsteps walking down the hall and the complaining from their son. They heard a few toilet flushes and water running. After a few more doors slammed and a bit of name calling, a boy appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Am I under arrest?” he asked, stumbling down the stairs toward them.
The teen looked like he’d been awoken from a six-month hibernation with his wrinkled trousers undone, hair sticking up in all directions, and him rubbing his eyes. Walking into the room, he plopped down on the sofa opposite the officers.
“Not been sleeping well lately, I’ve got seven GCSEs,” he said, stretching and yawning at the same time.
“What’s your name, son?” Theo asked him.
“Eric Lyons.”
“A few nights ago, Eric, the lady next door was murdered. I’m sure you’ve heard.”
The boy nodded but quickly added, “I didn’t see anything.”
That response caused Theo to sit up. He had answered too quickly. “May I see your room? The view from your window to be more accurate.”
Eric shrugged and replied, “Do I have a choice?” Like an eighty-year-old man, he groaned and pushed himself off the sofa. “We have to go upstairs.” He led them upstairs to his room. His father and mother, in their dressing gowns, stood waiting at the top of the stairs.
“They want to see my room,” Eric said to his parents, as he hobbled down the hall toward it.
“Why?” the father asked Theo. “What do you think happened? I don’t understand. What does all this have to do with my son’s room? Do you think he was involved?”
This last question made Theo stop and look at the father. “I only need to see the view from your son’s window. Do you suspect your son is involved? Is there some reason we should look at your son?”
The mother gave her husband a slap on the arm. “No,” she said quickly, “there’s no reason. My husband’s being ridiculous. We’re shocked about what happened next door, that’s all. Put us off guard. Not the sort of thing that happens in our neighborhood, to people we know.”
Theo and Dorland entered the room at the back of the second floor. It was a typical bedroom for a teenager, looking as though a windstorm had blown through. Clothing carpeted the floor, cords and cables from every sort of electronic device imaginable crossed as unint
entional trip wires. His computer, which would have been a great aid in schoolwork, was networked to his large screen television, which blinked the word PAUSE repeatedly on the screen, stopping the eventual shooting of what seemed to be a soldier in uniform.
Going to the window, Theo examined the desk placed in front of it. Piled upon Eric’s school papers and textbooks were heaps of DVD’s, games, and rock-hard, orange cheese balls. Theo doubted the boy used the desk much. Standing there, he couldn’t see through Helena’s kitchen window; he could barely catch the edge of the sink. However, he could see the patio doors and the garden. Moving a holed sock, a toothbrush, and a half-opened packet of gum, Theo sat down on the desk chair. He could still see out the window, and even better, had a clear view into the kitchen. Although Eric couldn’t see the floor, not only would he have seen Helena standing at the sink, but he may have caught a view of the killer.
Theo asked, “Eric, did you sit at this desk anytime Tuesday night?”
Eric kicked a sock under his bed. “That’s so long ago; I can’t remember what I did.”
Turning to the parents and the boy, Theo said, “Not many people know this, but we believe the person that killed your neighbor has murdered before.” He listened to them inhale sharply and said, “There’s a chance he may kill again. He’s very dangerous. If your son has any information that could be helpful to our investigation, to help us catch this person, it’s very important he speaks up.”
The parents looked at their son questioningly. Finally the father spoke, “Son, did you see anything?”
“I was working on a history project at my desk. It was due Wednesday. I had my earphones in so I didn’t notice much, especially outside. The neighbor lady, she’s not that interesting. I noticed she was there when she let her dog out, but I wasn’t really paying attention.”
He sat down on the bed, grabbed his pillow, and put it on his lap. “It was so weird,” he continued slowly and quietly. “I looked down for one second and then when I looked up again, her face…” He grew pale. “I’ll never be able to get that face out of my head. I didn’t know what was happening at first; she was looking at me but not—does that make any sense?”
The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) Page 17