by Bill Kitson
‘No, nothing like that.’ Nash explained the reason for their visit, seeing the shock on the young woman’s face. ‘Here,’ — he held his hands out for her bags — ‘let me help you inside with those. When we’ve taken a look at Miss Drake’s flat, we’d like a word with you. Will you be about for the rest of this morning?’
‘Yes, I’m on nights at the moment, so I’ll be free all day. Although I would like to get some sleep.’
‘I promise we won’t be long,’ Nash reassured her as he followed her into the building. He waited until she opened her flat door and then carried her shopping into the apartment, which he noticed looked immaculate. ‘Where do you work?’ he asked.
‘Netherdale General,’ she told him. ‘I’m a nurse. I moved here last year, after my marriage broke up,’ she added.
Nash changed the subject. ‘If you’re on nights, I don’t suppose you’ll be able to tell us much about Miss Drake’s movements, as she worked during the daytime.’
‘I only started on nights last weekend. Before then I was on the early shift, so I was home by mid-afternoon most days.’
‘In that case, we’ll definitely be interested in anything you can tell us. We’ll be down as soon as we can. Sorry, I don’t even know your name.’
‘Katy,’ she replied. ‘Katy Morgan.’
Nash saw Clara hovering outside the flat door. ‘Ms Morgan is going to tell us all she knows about Georgina Drake,’ he explained. ‘As she was around over most of last week, and the weekend, she might have seen the victim’s callers, if she had any.’
Clara nodded, and as they were climbing the stairs told him, ‘That car outside does belong to Georgina Drake.’
‘In that case, we can take a look at it when we leave. There might just be something,’ Nash said as he unlocked the flat door.
There were no obvious signs of violence inside the flat. Everything looked normal, until Clara opened the door to the bedroom. ‘Good God, Mike, come and look at this.’
Nash, who had been examining the books on one of the shelves in the lounge, turned and followed Mironova into the boudoir. ‘Ugh.’ Nash’s face wrinkled with distaste. ‘How revolting.’
The room was decorated throughout with bright red paint. In the middle, was a large, heavy, four-poster bed, its drapes also bright red. ‘Like a scene from hell,’ Clara muttered.
On the bed was a duvet, which bore an unmistakeable symbol in black against a white background. On the wall opposite was a photograph. The subject, instantly recognizable, was Adolph Hitler. ‘What do you make of all that?’ Clara asked.
‘I know what I’d like to make of it — a bonfire. It fits in, though. I was looking at the titles of some of the books in the lounge; very unpleasant reading matter.’
‘Have you seen those?’ Clara pointed to each end of the bed. Screwed to the corner posts were heavy chains, at the end of each were shackles.
‘Fascism and sadistic sex?’ Clara suggested. ‘Hardly what your average librarian gets up to in their spare time, I’d have thought.’
‘I certainly hope not,’ Nash agreed. He wandered over to the wardrobe and opened it. ‘Very nasty.’
Clara joined him. The outfits were all either clearly bondage clothing, or uniforms belonging to that notorious period in European history when the subject of the photograph on the wall spread terror throughout the world. Mironova spun away, disgust on her face, which turned to astonished repugnance when she opened one of the drawers in the chest alongside the wardrobe. ‘I suppose this was only to be expected,’ she told Nash.
The drawer contained a wide variety of sex toys and aids, all obviously designed to promote excitement via the infliction of pain. ‘Sadomasochism and extreme right-wing politics,’ Nash said. ‘One thing our job certainly teaches us is not to take things at face value, and not to be surprised by what we find behind seemingly respectable people’s doors. I think we should get CSI in here. The Drake woman certainly didn’t buy these purely for her own gratification. She had to have had a partner in her dirty little games, and if we can identify that partner, we might get a line as to who killed her and why. In the meantime, let’s go downstairs and find out what Ms Morgan can tell us, if anything.’
Clara noted Nash’s reference to “the Drake woman”. Clearly discovery of the fascist symbols in the bedroom had destroyed much of his sympathy for the murder victim.
It was obvious that Katy Morgan had used the time they’d been upstairs to smarten up her appearance. She had discarded her outer coat, and although she had run a comb through her long jet-black hair, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles added the only colour to her pale skin. Although she was on the plump side, there was no doubt she was an attractive woman. Mironova wondered if Nash had noticed; then smiled gently to herself. Of course he would have noticed. Clara would have been worried about him if he hadn’t.
They agreed to the offer of a mug of coffee, and when they were seated in her lounge, Nash asked, ‘What can you tell me about Ms Drake?’
‘I don’t know how much of it is relevant. Was she . . . murdered?’
Clara glanced at Nash, wondering what their response would be. She opted to let him answer.
‘We’re not sure, Ms Morgan,’ Nash told her. ‘We have to wait for the post-mortem results, but let’s just say at the moment we’re treating her death as suspicious.’
‘When doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong with a patient, they often tell them that there’s a virus going around at the moment. What you said sounded to me like the same sort of bullshit.’ She smiled, which robbed her statement of its offence. ‘You said her body was found at the library where she worked. Does that mean she wasn’t killed here?’
Clara noticed the momentary hesitation before Nash replied, and wondered if Ms Morgan had spotted it. ‘We don’t think that whatever happened to Ms Drake took place in her flat,’ Nash said.
‘You don’t think so, but you can’t be certain?’ It seemed Ms Morgan had picked up the hesitation.
‘There were no signs of violence when we looked around upstairs,’ Nash smiled reassuringly. ‘There’s certainly nothing that would suggest she was attacked inside the flat, although I will ask our CSI people to take a look to confirm that. I’m sure you’re quite safe here. So what can you tell us about her? I’m particularly interested to know about any visitors she had.’
‘She had quite a few of those,’ the nurse began slowly, gathering her thoughts as she spoke. ‘Mostly men, but there were a couple of women I saw who called to see her on more than one occasion. Bear in mind, I’m not home all the time. And I don’t often have time to spend staring out of the window.’ She frowned. ‘One thing I did notice. Whenever she had visitors, she almost always put music on, sometimes quite loud.’
‘What sort of music? Did you recognize it?’
Ms Morgan grimaced. ‘Not my type, that’s for sure. It was classical stuff. One of her favourites was that one from Apocalypse Now, you know, when the helicopter gunships with the napalm are coming in from the sea.’
‘The Ride of the Valkyrie?’ Nash suggested.
‘Is that what it’s called?’ She hummed a few bars, and Nash nodded.
‘Wagner,’ Nash told her. ‘The composer,’ he added, seeing her puzzled expression.
‘Well, there was a lot of similar stuff that all sounded much the same to me.’
‘Can you remember enough about her visitors to give us descriptions?’
‘Most of the men were younger than her, in their twenties or thirties, I’d say, although one or two looked older. At first I thought they were boyfriends, but there seemed to be too many for that, especially with the other women coming along at the same time. The blokes were a bit creepy, to be honest. They all had short hair, and a couple of them were proper skinheads. One I remember had a very unpleasant tattoo on his arm. He didn’t bother hiding it, which I found repulsive.’
‘What was the tattoo?’
‘It was a swastika.’
‘That
ties in with the music,’ Nash commented. ‘Did any of the visitors stay overnight?’
‘I think so, sometimes. Several of the men and both women did, although not all at the same time. I mean, there wouldn’t have been room, would there? I remember on a couple of occasions seeing them as they left the following day, and thinking they looked as if they’d been . . .’ She stopped short, staring at each of the detectives in turn, noting that neither of them looked surprised.
She leaned forward in her chair, her face reflecting her interest. ‘Is that what was going on? Were they having sex orgies upstairs?’ She looked more amused than shocked, but Nash supposed that as a nurse, there would be very little that would surprise her about human behaviour.
He smiled gently, but didn’t reply to her question. ‘What about recently? This past week? I understand she was off work.’
‘You say she was home through the week? Well, that’s strange, because I didn’t hear a sound. There was someone there on Saturday afternoon. I heard the music playing and it annoyed me, because I was trying to get some sleep before I began my first night shift, and then I heard her door slam and when I looked out, a couple of men left, a couple who visited her regularly. They were about the youngest she met.’
‘Did you see anyone else? After they left, I mean?’
‘No, because I went to work soon afterwards.’ She thought for a moment. ‘There was a white van I didn’t recognize parked in the road, but that could have been a delivery for one of the neighbours.’
‘Is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?’
Ms Morgan shook her head and as Nash got up to leave, she stood up to let them out. Clara saw that the woman’s attention had switched back to her colleague. It wasn’t the first time Clara had seemed invisible to a woman when Nash was in the room. She reached to get a business card from her pocket, but saw that Nash was already handing the nurse one of his. ‘Thank you for the coffee and the information. If you think of anything else that might be useful, no matter how trivial, don’t hesitate to contact me. My office landline is on the card, and my mobile number is written on the back.’
He let go of her hand, and Clara followed him out of the room, with a nod and a smile to Ms Morgan.
‘She seems very nice,’ Clara commented as they inspected the car. ‘Single as well, by the look of things.’
‘Divorced,’ Nash corrected her. ‘Either divorced or separated. She told me that earlier.’
‘Trust you to find out if she was available first chance you got,’ Clara attempted to tease Nash, and was surprised when she failed to provoke a reaction.
‘There’s nothing significant here,’ Nash said as he locked the car. ‘Let’s get back to Helmsdale.’
‘Shouldn’t we ask Ms Morgan to come in to the station and make a formal statement?’
‘Let’s give her a few days grace in the hope that she might remember something else that’s important. After that, we’ll call her. Better having her come in rather than visiting her at home. Her coffee’s almost as bad as yours.’
‘We don’t have her phone number.’
‘I do. As you were taking note of her details, I was memorizing her number. I was seated by the phone, and the number was on the receiver.’
‘Impressive! Anyone would think you were a detective.’
* * *
On Tuesday morning, Clara attended the post-mortem at the mortuary, set at the rear of Netherdale General Hospital. She looked over the notes she had made, these contained details Nash would want to know ahead of receiving Mexican Pete’s in-depth report. She was astonished at what she had seen and heard during the procedure. She frowned, wondering if Nash would be able to make more sense of the confusing information than she could.
‘Are you OK, Clara? That was certainly not an easy one to watch.’ Ramirez had entered the office and sighed heavily as he took his seat.
‘Yes, I’m OK. I was just shocked at everything you found — and more by what you didn’t find. That poor woman must have suffered terribly.’
Ramirez began by summing up his findings. ‘Unfortunately, much of what I’m about to say is speculation. Although I will have to wait until I get the toxicology report from the lab, I’d guess that the dead woman had been heavily sedated. If I’m right, she might not have endured as much pain as you think. However, even if she was sedated, the sedative was certainly not the cause of death. It’s a bit complicated to explain without going into technical details, but when I examined the incision, I found unmistakeable evidence of a knife wound. At first, I thought the stitches had been made simply to cover up that wound, but, as you saw, when I opened her up, I found the real reason.’
Ramirez looked at Mironova, his normally phlegmatic expression troubled. ‘I think you are dealing with a very sick individual,’ he told her. ‘How else do you explain the fact that the victim’s heart was surgically removed?’
Clara’s first thought during the post-mortem had been that this was some sick form of organ harvesting. ‘Was it professionally done?’
‘That’s an interesting point. Obviously the person who conducted the operation had to have a detailed knowledge of anatomy, but I don’t think you’re looking for a demented cardiologist. Having said that, there are many doctors who lack the surgical skills to perform such delicate operations. So I wouldn’t rule out it being the work of someone within the medical profession. Then again, it could quite easily have been done by a veterinary surgeon, a builder or a farmer who have studied the right textbooks or watched one of those interminable TV shows that focus on medical procedures. If I had to guess, I’d suggest the person who removed the heart was an amateur, albeit a gifted one.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’ Clara was still struggling to come to terms with the results.
‘There was one extremely unusual injury. The internal burn marks.’ Ramirez chose his words with care as he explained the nature of what he had discovered.
Mironova stared at him in complete disbelief, part of her cringed at the thought. She hadn’t imagined the news could get worse — but it had. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why would anyone do that to her?’
‘At a guess, I’d say it was either the most extreme form of sadism — or, more likely, that she was tortured to obtain information.’
‘She was a librarian, for goodness sake. What on earth could she know that they tortured her to discover? This is more like something out of an espionage thriller.’
Ramirez shrugged. ‘My job is to present the facts. It’s up to you and your boss to interpret them. Where is our tame vampire, by the way?’
‘It’s Mike’s day off,’ Clara told him, ‘and he’s being very mysterious about it.’
‘Probably spending the day in his coffin, or hanging from the rafters waiting for a new victim.’
‘Is there anything else I should know about the dead woman?’
‘Lividity of the corpse suggests that she was left lying on her back for some time after she was killed. The surgery was done pre-mortem. There would have been considerable blood loss from the procedure; especially from the wound, as the heart would still have been pumping at that time. That suggests the murder took place somewhere that isn’t frequented by other people, and one moreover where the killer could work in seclusion. That would also tally with the torture. If she wasn’t gagged, I would imagine her screams would have carried a long way.’
‘This knife the killer used, have you any clue as to what sort of weapon we’re looking for?’
‘As far as I can judge,’ Ramirez said with a shrug, ‘it could include almost all carving knives, and a lot of kitchen knives, too.’ He paused before adding, ‘It certainly wouldn’t rule out a scalpel either.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, whoever killed Miss Drake took extremely great care to remove every last bit of trace evidence by carefully washing the body from head to toe in a mild disinfectant solution. I’m having it analyzed,’ he added. ‘That’s t
he reason her hair was still damp when the body was found. In addition, I found a minute piece of sponge lodged under one of her toenails. It had obviously snagged on a sharp edge of nail.’
‘So, let me get this straight: Having killed Miss Drake, the murderer carefully sponges all trace from her body and then dresses her again.’
‘Yes. And there is one other thing, but whether it has any bearing on her murder or not, I can’t be sure. Miss Drake had intercourse at some point in the hours or days before she was killed. There is no indication that she was an unwilling participant, though.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘There’s none of the tearing or bruising that would suggest rape. There is only the ordinary wear to the vaginal wall of someone who was sexually active.’
‘You can tell that by examining a woman’s body?’ Clara looked surprised.
‘We can if the evidence is obvious enough, which in this case it was. She had never given birth, though.’
Clara closed her notebook. The pathologist’s comments regarding Georgina Drake’s personal life seemed to bear out what they’d found in her flat. She wondered what Nash’s reaction would be to Mexican Pete’s final remark.
‘What I can tell you,’ Ramirez had added as she was leaving the mortuary, ‘is that this has to be probably one of the most sadistic murders I’ve ever had to deal with. The killer you are looking for is either a complete psychopath or someone carrying an enormous weight of hatred against the victim.’
Both Mironova and Nash had been forced to witness some fairly gruesome sights during their careers, but on balance she had to agree with the pathologist.
She returned to Helmsdale, and out of her usual concern for Mike, walked into his office. He was old-fashioned enough to use a desk diary, and she wondered if this might give a clue as to his unexplained absence. She opened it, but the sole entry for that day was at 2.30 p.m. Alongside, Nash had written the name Toni. Who that was, Clara had no idea.
The only other occupant of the CID suite was DC Lisa Andrews, usually based at Netherdale, but often seconded when there was need. Clara took the chance for a gossip about their boss. It was Lisa who prompted the discussion of Nash’s demeanour.