by Clare Curzon
‘Friday evening.’
‘You must have impressed her if she let you stay over the weekend.’
Daniel smirked. ‘She was expensive. I could afford it.’
‘And now the young lady’s dead. From a road accident. And we have only your word on what happened.’
‘She was alive enough when I explained it the first time.’
‘Alive, but unconscious. So she couldn’t give her version.’ Zyczynski had taken over from Beaumont. Daniel was struck dumb. He threw an appealing glance at his grandmother who elected to stay silent too.
‘As it happens,’ Zyczynski said, ‘I’ve just come from your friend Jeff Wilmott. He too is in hospital, at High Wycombe. Another road accident. You having destroyed his two-stroke, it seems he borrowed a bigger beast and crashed into the rear wing of a car, shooting a red light.’
Beaumont gazed with mock innocence at the ceiling. ‘Signally failed to stop.’
Anna stared at him with shocked suspicion.
‘My colleague does puns,’ Z excused him. ‘We’re so used to it we don’t groan any more.’
‘Right.’ Anna managed to overlook Beaumont’s defective empathy and demanded, ‘But Jeff Wilmott, how is he?’ His misfortune struck her as further jinxing that stemmed from the carnage at Fordham Manor.
‘He’s in an orthopaedic ward with an injured shoulder blade and extensive bruising, but should be out in a few days.’
Beaumont turned again to Daniel. ‘Meanwhile,’ he stressed, ‘we are short of any witness to your presence at the girl’s flat on Friday night.’
Daniel closed his eyes, mouth twisted sardonically. ‘How could there be anyone? Do you think we invited an audience? And why Friday night? You can’t think I’d anything to do with – with what happened at home?’
‘Daniel, we all have to cooperate,’ Anna cautioned. ‘They asked me too, remember? I’d no alibi at all.’
‘Well I’ve told them everything I can.’ He turned on Beaumont. ‘I don’t see why I had to come here after you’d already questioned me at home. This is harassment. I shall complain to – to my solicitor.’
‘Ah yes, I was coming to that,’ said the DS imperturbably. ‘You should think about consulting a brief with regard to any future charges concerning your biking mishap.’ ‘What charges are likely?’ Anna asked tautly.
‘Causing death by careless driving. Or maybe reduced to “without due care and attention”. Then there’s driving a vehicle underage, without licence or insurance. Possibly claiming a false identity at the hospital.’
‘But it was a bloody fox caused the accident. I told you before!’ the boy shouted. ‘Why don’t you listen?’
He put an urgent hand on Anna’s arm. ‘Gran, I haven’t been arrested. We’re free to leave. Let’s get out of here.’
As he stormed through Reception with Anna in his wake, Yeadings was standing talking with a pale-faced man in a blue suit.
‘Yeah, that’s him,’ the man said when they had passed. ‘I noticed him special-like because of having the other chap’s bike. I wondered if he’d pinched it, Jeff being away, like he’d said he’d be.’
‘That would be Jeff Wilmott?’
‘Yeah, I know him. A regular, like.’
‘One of Charleen’s clients?’
The man paused, unwilling to admit that the pub served toms. ‘A friend of hers, see. Look, I’m only a potman, clear the tables and wash glasses, like. I only noticed this lad because I’d slipped out for a smoke, and there he was riding up on Jeff’s two-stroke with the red mudguards.’
‘And you’re sure this was Friday the twentieth?’
‘Sure as my name’s mud if I don’t get home before me missus asks where I’ve bin. She’s got a thing about police stations.’
Yeadings nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Barker. You’ve been very helpful.’
He joined his two sergeants in the corridor. ‘Young Hoad is vouched for in Slough until 11.10 p.m. when he left with Charleen, on wobbly legs. So that should clear him for the Fordham business. He’s still responsible for the girl’s death. Traffic Division can send us their paperwork on that.
‘Come up to my office, both of you. I’d like to discuss the pathology reports on the Hoad family.’
As they shared out copies Z demanded of Beaumont, ‘You didn’t seriously think Anna Plumley could be connected with the crime.’
‘Is that a statement or a question? I asked her for an alibi and she hadn’t one. Any reason she should be excepted from routine enquiries?’
‘No. It’s just that, if there’s the slightest possibility she was at odds with the family, Daniel shouldn’t be left alone with her.’
‘Daniel as sole survivor,’ Yeadings considered. ‘You’ve spent time with them. Do you see any threat to him?’
‘No. She’s protective, in a robust sort of way. Won’t let him feel sorry for himself. Keeps him busy.’
‘And how does he regard her?’
‘Naturally he depends on her. At the same time he resents the need for her. At present there’s nobody else and, in shock, he’s almost totally self-absorbed. Whether he’s genuinely fond of her I couldn’t say. But there’s nothing menacing in her toughness. He’s not cowed by her.’
‘Then let’s pass on to the path reports. I’ll summarize. First, Frederick Arthur Hoad, fifty-four; cause of death heart failure due to a .22 bullet penetrating the left breast, destroying his pacemaker and being deflected to lodge in the right clavicle. The knife wounds were post-mortem. The bullet’s upwards angle of trajectory was unusual, being at forty degrees to the horizontal. Dismissing Professor Littlejohn’s whimsy of a pygmy, we’re left with the choice of the killer crouched low or the victim already lying face-up on the floor.’
‘The main light was found on in the dining room,’ Beaumont reminded them. ‘And there were only normal smudges on the switch, no blood. Can we suppose Hoad turned it on when he went for the gun? In which case an intruder, hearing him approach, would surely have hidden.’
‘The heavy dining table was out of position,’ Z pointed out. ‘He could have been under it, waiting for the right moment, aimed from there and then disturbed it in crawling out.’
‘But Hoad either saw or sensed someone there, aimed, and the shot went wild because he was hit at the precise moment of firing, thereby blasting the china cabinet.’
‘So was the intention to kill him? Or did it become inevitable as a wild act of self-preservation?’ Yeadings asked them.
‘That’s for Crown Prosecution to decide; not our worry,’ Beaumont gave as his opinion.
‘But it is,’ Yeadings disagreed. ‘Especially as we’re to have a profiler on the case who will expect some input from you on the question.
‘Anyway, so much for the report on Hoad’s death. The rest concerns his general health: no mortal disease and nil toxicology. He had eaten an adequate evening meal some six or seven hours before death and drunk the equivalent of three units of alcohol.
‘Next, the two children. Again no disease found; in each case death by a single stab-wound to the heart. Could be due to basic anatomical knowledge or pure luck. No sign of resistance, so no helpful residue under the nails. No indication of which was first to be killed. Full stomachs, several units of alcohol taken, corresponding with what was missing from the sherry bottle. Angela Hoad’s blood group not corresponding with that of either presumed parent.
‘Finally we come to the female body found in the barn.’
‘The exhibit on display,’ Beaumont insisted dourly.
‘Yes. Different from the others. We’ll discuss that later. Death was due to multiple stabbing preceded by an attempt at strangulation by a flat ligature, which was probably insufficient to cause complete loss of consciousness. While held helpless and upright, she was stabbed twice; once under the right clavicle and also on the left upper arm. Marks on the right side of the neck indicate that she was dragged by some kind of lead, possibly a narrow leather belt, to the bales of straw where the final st
abbings took place. There were fifteen wounds in all. Other bales were then arranged into a rough semicircle with her at the centre.’
Yeadings removed his reading glasses, rubbed at the red patch they’d left on one side of his nose and replaced them. ‘Actually, it was less of a semicircle than a horseshoe. I’ve wondered since how significant that was. A henge shape, connected perhaps with the primitive idea of sacrificial victims? Or some link with horses? All the family rode, of course, but only Mrs Hoad had hunted with foxhounds.’
‘That’ll be a field day for the press,’ Beaumont muttered. ‘They’ll drag politics into it: urban vengeance on the country way of life. Further arousal of the hunting ban protests.’
‘In such a case as this, we have to consider any idea however outrageous. There’s more than a hint of madness involved; and reason seems inadequate to deal with the irrational.’
‘But why was she treated differently?’ Z asked. ‘Was it because by then no one was left to interfere, and the killer had time for refinements? Or had she been the main intended victim all along, with the others simply getting in the way?’
Yeadings gazed round at the others, but no one volunteered an answer. ‘Final details: the dead woman had ingested roughly the same meal as her husband, but rather less in quantity and with rather more alcohol. Her blood test showed the presence of a small amount of cocaine.
‘As to her general health, Professor Littlejohn detected the early stages of hyperthyroidism, which means she’d have suffered slightly accelerated heart rate with some sweating, a tendency to anxiety and tremor, also weight loss, the condition being due to enlargement of the thyroid gland.
‘It’s not certain she was aware of the condition, since the symptoms could have been accepted as stress-related due to personal or professional worries. The Hoad family doctor has stated he’d not seen her for over three and a half years, but she may have consulted someone privately in London.
‘As we assume from SOCO’s findings in the upper rooms, the killer disturbed her sleep. It’s possible she ran to her daughter’s room and caught him in there with the bloodstained knife, fled barefoot downstairs, pursued by him, and so out into the night. This was before the downpour: her nightdress and robe, recovered from the floor of the barn, were quite dry, and some bloodstains could have come from the killer’s hands as he dragged them off her. Unfortunately neither fabric retains palm or fingerprints. The bloodstains contained minute samples from the three earlier victims as well as her own, and neither weapon — gun nor knife — has been found subsequently.’
‘Time of death,’ Beaumont prompted.
‘Earliest presumed one 1.45 a.m. Certainly not later than 2.50 when the deluge started. Blood was congealed on the body when Barton found her soon after three. Rigor had not set in.’
The internal phone on Yeadings’ desk buzzed and he picked it up, listened and nodded. ‘Bring him up yourself.’ He replaced the receiver and turned to Beaumont. ‘Get yourself a chair, and two more for visitors. Our profiler has arrived.’
The man DC Silver ushered in was small and rotund. His suit was crumpled and a fringe of thin black hair stood up in disarray from a pale dome as though he had been pulled backwards through a thorn hedge.
‘Dr Jolyon Abercorn,’ he introduced himself breathlessly and bent over the desk to offer his hand.
Yeadings introduced himself and his team. ‘I understand you’re advised of the general outline of the case. To save your time,’ he suggested, producing a tape recorder from his half-open top drawer, ‘you may care to hear the point we’ve just reached.’ He reversed to the start of their conversation.
‘Ah.’ Abercorn sat, crossed his fat little legs at the ankles and closed his eyes the better to concentrate. At one point he grunted, but made no comment. When the recording stopped he stayed silent until it seemed he might have fallen asleep. Then, abruptly, he sat up and swung round to face Beaumont. ‘Displayed, you said. So this was more than a killer simply ridding himself of another human creature found bothersome. It was a deliberate demonstration. Perhaps a celebration. Tell me, was the late Jennifer Hoad a show-off herself?’
‘You might say that,’ Yeadings allowed. ‘She has been variously described as “flashy”, “overbearing” and “full of herself”.’
And your observation on the arrangement of the straw bales — a connection with horses? I’m not sure I go for that. Now “henge” — that’s better. I wonder was she in any way superstitious or religious?’
‘Evidence of that hasn’t emerged so far.’
‘Then I shall need to talk to someone who knew her well.’ He smiled amiably. At least as well as her killer.’
‘There’s her son and her mother. At present both at the house where it happened.’
‘Splendid. First I’ll access your incident room information, then I’d appreciate an introduction, if you would set up a meeting with them.’ He beamed on them all, accepted Silver’s offer to escort him to the computer room and strutted out.
‘Henge,’ Beaumont said doubtfully when he and Z were clear of the office. ‘Given that all shrinks are sad freaks, he could be dragging us into the zone of Druid sacrifice and mistletoe murders.’
Chapter Fourteen
Anna was pouring tea in the drawing-room, for the present suspending judgment on the visitor Zyczynski had brought with her. She was suspicious of such overt amiability, reminding herself he was a professional concealing an informed attempt to assess those he confronted.
He, for his part, beamed at her through steel-rimmed spectacles, observing and approving her decision to stay on the sidelines. As yet he saw no reason to doubt that she was what she appeared to be, reliable and commonsensical — which was by no means as common as the description implied.
The young man hunched in the armchair opposite was less comfortable. And why not? — traumatised by the double blow of the savage attack on his family and his own part in the death of a girl he’d sought out for sex. As the obligatory tea ritual progressed, with the woman detective handing round filled cups, Daniel kept his gaze on the carpet, bony knuckles strained bloodless on closed knees. Defensive, in denial; certainly resentful of the psychologist’s presence. So, more anxious than angry?
The answer was almost immediate. Abruptly, he stood, almost pushing Zyczynski aside as she offered the little tray with sugar, milk and lemon slices, and turned on the older woman. ‘I don’t want any fucking tea. Sorry Gran, but I can’t take all this faffing about. I told you, I’m not on for this counselling stuff.’
‘As you wish, Daniel. You may leave us if you’d rather.’
That had him hesitating. He looked desperately between her and the fat little man absorbed in stirring his tea. When no one spoke further he shrugged, picked his way between the chairs and left the room. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ he called back from the hall.
‘Don’t apologise,’ Abercorn said urbanely as Anna shifted in her chair, ready to spread oil on the waters. ‘It is to be expected. Actually it’s you I hoped to speak with, and preferably with only Miss Zyczynski present. If you feel able, I should like you to tell me about your daughter, Jennifer.’
Anna grimaced. ‘Nil nisi bonum, or must I be frank? No, whichever, I’m sure you are capable of winnowing what you require.’
He smiled. ‘Her childhood?’
‘Sadly neglected, I confess. For the greater part her father wasn’t there. I had a demanding career to carve out or we’d have been penniless. In married quarters, services children tend to buckle under or form groups and run wild, grow up too fast. And by nature she was independent, over-confident; like so many young things, thought she was immortal.’
‘Took risks?’
‘Led many of the worst escapades of her little gang, but usually managed to evade the principal blame. I worried that she was manipulative, but knew no way to reverse it. My world was one where you gave orders and obeyed them. Jennifer didn’t belong there, and she let everyone know it. You have to unders
tand that, even quite young, she was remarkably beautiful, could charm the crows off the trees, as the saying goes.’
‘And grew up to become a successful businesswoman with artistic flair.’
‘At eighteen she married a modern-day Micawber of her own age, and Daniel was born four years later. They had managed up to that point, but the arrival of a baby brought problems the marriage wasn’t fit to survive, nor she to cope with. Peter left her and she started to drink heavily. Social Services stepped in. I obtained compassionate leave to look after Daniel rather than have him sent to a children’s home, until suitable foster parents were found. I offered Jennifer a roof but she refused it. That left her free to deal with her own problem. She had two attempts at drying out and finally mastered it. She studied decor at college and seemed to have found her feet again. Although admitting she was an alcoholic, she has since allowed herself to drink, moderately, with meals. I know that’s almost unheard of, but she’s unusually strong-willed.’
‘She must be. And Daniel?’
‘Stayed with the foster parents who hoped eventually to adopt him. He was a beautiful child, sweet-tempered and always laughing. Later, when Jennifer took Freddie Hoad to see him she fell in love with the little golden cherub. He’d have been almost five by then, and I believe that Daniel was the main reason she agreed to marry a man fifteen years older than she was. Frederick had offered to adopt him.’
‘The main reason?’
Anna paused. ‘He was also wealthy. She’d lived hand-to-mouth long enough to see the advantages of that. He could afford nursemaids, leaving her free to follow her artistic interests and return home to the child as a plaything. She had persuaded Freddie to finance the design firm she runs in London, Miradec Interiors.’
‘And young Angela?’
‘Born later. Was only ten years old when …this happened. It’s unthinkable.’
‘You know that her blood group is different from that of both parents?’
‘She’s not Freddie’s, certainly. He was unable to have children. I don’t know which of Jennifer’s men friends would be the father. I didn’t see it as my business to ask.’