by L M Krier
After preliminary greetings, Ted sat down opposite Morgane and took out the photocopy he'd made of her sketch of the person she said had abducted her and killed her mother. He placed it on the table in front of him, looking directly at Morgane.
'Morgane, do you know someone called Max Newman?'
'I don't think so. The name doesn't ring a bell.'
This time, Ted didn't stop him when her father interrupted her.
'Isn't he the boy you told me about, darling? The one with the snake?'
She looked surprised.
'Mad Max? Is that what he's called? I know about him, through school, but everyone just calls him Mad Max.'
'Have you ever been to his house?'
She looked at him in something like horror.
'His house? Good grief, no, I don't even know where he lives. Why would I?'
'But you've done sketches of the snake?'
'No, not really. I mean, I know Mad Max brought in some of its skin when it moulted, or whatever they do, and Miss Lake, the art teacher, gave us some to work with. I loved the patterns, so I looked up online about them. The pattern's called desert ghost, which I really liked, so I did some sketches of the ones I found online. I used those, and some of the skin, to create something for a big course work project I was doing. Daddy, would you mind getting that from your room to show to the inspector, please?'
Her father was beaming in evident pride.
'It's stunning. But not everyone likes snakes and it is very vivid, so I keep it in my room. You'll see what I mean. I'll go and fetch it.'
'I call it Metamorphosis. It's a fantasy piece. I got an A+ for it.'
Ted did see what her father meant. It was, in equal measure, possibly the most striking and the most disturbing piece of artwork he could remember seeing. It started at one side of the frame with serpent's coils, increasing in size, beginning with actual skin from Max's python and continuing through intricate pen and ink sketching. It erupted to a climax just off-centre of the piece with a 3D representation of a dragon's head which exuded a feeling of evil that was almost tangible. Ted had watched The Hobbit at the cinema with Trev, a fantasy lover. Morgane's piece made Smaug the dragon appear about as menacing as one of Ted's purring cats.
'You see?' Edwards asked proudly. 'Stunning. She's so talented, my princess.'
'And has Max ever seen the finished work?'
'Good heavens, no, why would he? I only know about him because of the skin, and because people at school talk about him. Everyone thinks he's weird because he keeps a snake in his bedroom. I mean, it is a bit freaky, you have to admit.'
'And you can't think of anything else, anything at all, which might help us further, Morgane? Anything other than your sketch? Something about the car, perhaps? You're sure it was dark-coloured?'
She shook her head then winced slightly, her hand going to the wound on her eyebrow as if the movement had caused her pain.
'Are you no further forward with catching the killer? I haven't seen Morgane's sketch anywhere, not on TV or in the papers, asking if anyone knows who it is. Is there a reason for that?'
It was Morgane's father who posed the question, but Ted kept his eyes fixed on the daughter as he answered smoothly.
'We're not quite ready to make the sketch public yet, Mr Edwards. We want to make absolutely certain we have a good case against anyone before we bring them in. I'm sure you know, through your ex-wife's work, that we only have a limited time to hold someone on suspicion, so we like to have more to go on. Our main problem is that we haven't found any traces of the killer's DNA anywhere, which makes our task difficult.'
Morgane's eyes made a movement so rapid that it was barely detectable. But Ted had seen and recognised it. She'd been surprised by what he said.
'Nothing anywhere?'
It was again the father who asked the question, but Morgane was studying Ted avidly, waiting for his response.
'Well, as Morgane says, he appears to have been wearing gloves and shoe coverings. Sadly, killers being obliging enough to drop one of their cigarette ends at a crime scene with their DNA on is something which only happens in crime fiction.'
'Talking of crime fiction, Morgane, why don't you show the Chief Inspector those sketches you showed me earlier? See what he thinks. They're really very good,' Kate Jones put in.
Ted knew she would have a good reason for interrupting the flow, since this was not something they'd discussed earlier.
Morgane started to protest with a show of what Ted suspected was false modesty, then eventually pushed her pad across the table to him. He started to go through the sketches from the beginning. As she'd said, there were a few of coiled pythons, highly detailed in capturing the intricate patterns of their skin. But most were portraits, some of which Ted did recognise.
'This one is very good. It's Idris Elba, isn't it? Do you like crime fiction, Morgane? Do you watch series like Luther?'
'I love stuff like that. I started watching it because of my mum's work. You know, as a solicitor dealing with criminal cases. And my dad saying about me maybe being a court artist.'
'Who's your favourite character in Luther?'
'Alice!' she said emphatically.
Ted raised his eyebrows.
'It doesn't bother you that she murdered her own parents? And killed the dog?'
'Oh, yes, of course, that was terrible. But I just love the way she outsmarts the police all the time. She's a bit like some sort of a spy. A spook. I think she's cool.'
Kate walked out with him to the car when he'd finished his questioning.
'She's certainly unusual, Kate. What do you think about the relationship between her and her father? Normal, or a bit unhealthily close?'
'I've been wondering about that a bit. He might just be over-protective of her, after all she's been through. She is strange, though. And she certainly seemed to react when you said you'd found no DNA anywhere, although she hid her reaction well.
'She doesn't really seem to have any friends. I know she's not got her mobile at the moment, but no one's tried to make contact with her. No one from school, I mean. We've had the press pestering a bit but I keep sending them packing, but no friends or anything. Surely someone would have been in touch? And no signs at all of any boyfriends. I've tried asking her outright and she just says she's concentrating on her art for now, to get good enough grades for her first choice of university.'
'Any other family that you know of?'
'There's a grandmother, her father's mother. Morgane seems close. She lives in Wythenshawe. She phones often and Morgane chats away quite happily to her. Apparently she usually visits her at least once a week.'
'Wythenshawe?' Ted echoed. 'So there's a South Manchester connection? And we have the other case over there, with some similarities.'
'Oh, God, boss, Should I have made the connection and flagged it up? Sorry.'
'Don't worry, it's fine. You're not involved on that case so you weren't to know. Anyway, it may be no more than a coincidence. Up to now, Morgane hasn't been a suspect.'
'And now?'
'Now, I have no idea. Now I need to go back and talk to Max again and I need SOCO in his room turning it inside out for any trace there of Morgane's presence. One of them is obviously lying, but which one? In the meantime, you need to get her to show you as many of her sketch books as possible. I'm particularly interested in any which show a python feeding. Especially one feeding on a baby rabbit.'
Ted was relieved when he phoned Max's home and a woman answered. He'd quite like to meet the mother, who told him that her husband was out for the day. He'd feel reassured to know there was at least one parent looking after Max properly, even if she was out at work a lot of the time. His gut feeling told him Max was not the killer, but he couldn't go off his instinct alone.
He'd need a warrant to get the house searched for traces of Morgane's presence there, unless Max and his mother consented, and that was going to be tricky. Max might be afraid of being linked to
her by forensic evidence. But if tests showed she had been in his room, she had lied and Max had apparently told the truth.
Ted was at pains to explain to Max's mother that her son was not under arrest and it was not a formal interview. He could see that the youth was uncomfortable with the whole idea of saying anything in front of his mother, but Ted needed answers.
'Max, love, you need to tell the truth. Whatever you've done, you know I'll stick up for you. I'm your mam. If your dad doesn't need to know, he'll never hear it from me. Please, just tell the inspector what he needs to know.'
'Max, you've admitted to me that Morgane Edwards has visited the house and has been in your bedroom.'
His mother's hand went to her mouth and she looked anxious.
'Mrs Newman, please don't worry. You're probably imagining the worst, but Morgane is sixteen. Anything which may have happened between them is not my main concern at the moment. Max, this is very important. Did Morgane touch anything? Boris's tank, for instance? Could she have left fingerprints anywhere?'
'I keep Boris really clean. I look after him proper.'
His concern genuinely seemed to be at implied criticism of how he took care of his pet, rather than anything more serious he might be facing.
'He does, Inspector, Max is really good with Boris. His tank is always spotless. Max, love, if you've had a lass in your room, that's all right, that's normal. I won't tell your dad. Just please answer the inspector's questions. I don't want you in trouble with the police.'
'I clean the vivarium every day. He only uses the feeding tank once a week or so, and I do clean that too, but it's possible she may have put her hand on the glass when she was putting the rabbit in there.'
'Good, thank you. Now this is really important, both of you. I need proof to show if Morgane has been in your room. I know you've told me she has, but I need concrete evidence. Now, I could apply for a warrant to search it thoroughly, and in the meantime you could clean up any trace. Or, you could give me your permission, Mrs Newman, for me to bring forensic officers in to check for prints.'
Max was looking at his mother, his eyes appealing for her help and advice. She reached out and took his hand.
'Oh, I don't know, Max, love. I don't know what to do for best. Should I phone his dad, Inspector? Do we need a lawyer? What's best for Max?'
'I can't advise you of that, Mrs Newman. All I can do is to assure you that I'm not someone who would ever intentionally allow an innocent person to be charged with any crime. It's a question of trust. If you trust me, then you can give your consent. But only you can decide, I'm afraid.'
She looked searchingly at Ted, then her glance went between him and her son and back again.
'Dear God, I hope I'm doing the right thing, but all right. Yes, you can bring your people in to search his room.'
Ted waited around for SOCO to come and take fingerprints in Max's room. There were plenty on the outside of both tanks, around the edges where Max had clearly missed with his cleaning cloths. It would be some time before he got any results, after detailed comparisons were made, but if Morgane had been in the room, then she had lied to him and he didn't like that. It made her an unreliable witness for anything she told him, one the CPS wouldn't be keen to put up as a main witness for the prosecution in any future trial.
He left himself enough time to call for a takeaway on his way home, Indian, at Bizzie's suggestion. He somehow wasn't surprised that she'd asked for a Vindaloo, the hotter the better, and with extra chillis. He wimped out and opted for a milder Biryani, never being keen on burning his digestive tract in the guise of enjoyment. He also picked up the Tiger beer she'd asked for with the meal, and a bottle of a decent red to follow.
Flushed with proud success at his recent attempts at syllabub, he bought the ingredients to make another one. The cats were pleased when his efforts resulted in a fair amount of splashed cream, as his attention wandered for a moment and he lifted the hand whisk out of the bowl before it had stopped rotating.
'This is incredibly kind of you, Edwin, and very fortuitous. I'm sure Mummy gets more irascible every time I visit. Lately it seems I can't do anything right. A good passage-clearing curry is just what this doctor ordered.'
Seeing his look of alarm, she laughed and reassured him.
'Nasal passages. Sinuses. Nothing like it for clearing the head.'
They ate first and, only when they had retired to comfortable chairs with their coffee and the after dinner mints Bizzie had arrived clutching, did Ted bring the conversation round to the head wound, the dirt and the amount of blood.
'Scalp wounds tend to bleed quite alarmingly. Generally, eyebrows not quite so much. There certainly wasn't a lot of blood where the wound was probably caused. From what you've said, I would say there was a second blow, later, at the same area of the head. Very strange, but there is a hypothesis.
'For reasons best known to herself, the young lady wanted to look even more dramatic when she was found. So, as she trotted in search of help, she picked up a handy rock and bashed herself on the same place on her eyebrow. Splitting it open like that a second time would explain the more dramatic bleeding, and also the trace of dirt. But I have absolutely no suggestion to make as to why she would do that.'
'So how would I begin to prove that that's what happened, if it did?'
'You'd need a specially trained blood detection dog, but I'm not sure the GMP Tactical Dog Unit has one. I think you'd need to ask South Yorkshire. But I don't know how easily you'd get one, as they're in high demand, especially on such a tenuous theory as this. And whether it could find you anything with the time lag involved since the incident, I have absolutely no idea.'
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was late by the time Ted had run Bizzie Nelson home and got back himself. He'd half hoped to hear something from Trev but realised he was probably having the time of his life. Polo matches and dinner parties were much more his style than Ted's.
Ted fired off a quick text, hoping Trev would remember his own inebriated typo from before and appreciate the joke.
'Hope you're having a billirant time. Enjoy your ride tomorrow. Don't fall off! See you afterwards. Love you. Ted x'
He was tired but his head was buzzing so much he doubted that he would find sleep easily. It was one of the rare times he almost envied colleagues who would have opened a bottle of wine before bed to help them to relax. But Ted had watched his father die an alcoholic and was determined not to go down the same road himself. The only thing he occasionally took was a strong antihistamine, which seldom failed to knock him out.
He was in early the following morning, reading through case notes once more, killing time until he could phone the lab and talk to Doug. In fact it was Doug who phoned him, earlier than Ted expected.
'These semen stains, boss. Don't take this the wrong way, but it's a bit of a speciality of mine. And I'd far sooner talk to you about them now, over the phone, than in a team briefing, with ladies present. I know we're both men of the world so you'll understand my points.'
He went on to explain that SOCO found semen stains not infrequently at all sorts of crime scenes, including burglary, and that he had been given the dubious honour of becoming the lab's expert on them.
'Now I'm sure I don't have to explain the mechanics of ejaculation to you and I'm relieved not to be doing so in public. But there are a couple of things about these particular stains which don't quite sit right with me, based on my experience. Not for what we are clearly expected to take them for, which is someone masturbating over a girl's underwear.
'First is the quantity of ejaculate. Less than I would have expected. Much less than average. But there could be all sorts of reasons for that, like a medical condition. Secondly is the actual pattern of the stain. If someone was standing there masturbating, we would expect to see something like a splatter pattern.'
He broke off and chuckled.
'Sorry, but I'm just imagining my toes curling up if I was having to explain all o
f this in front of young DC Vine in particular. But I expect you know what I mean. These traces were different. If I had to make an educated guess – words you never thought you'd hear from a scientific type – I would say the semen had been wiped on to the underwear.
'In the old days we could have checked for spermicide to see if a condom had been involved. Someone might have wiped the contents of one onto the underwear, for instance. But it's being phased out now. Modern brands don't always have it.
'Oh, and another thing, in case you've not seen the report yet. The cable ties, from the girl's wrists. The only DNA we found on those was hers. No traces of anyone else's. And teeth marks.'
'As if she'd been trying to get them off?'
'Possibly,' Doug's voice was hesitant. 'This must be my day for wild guesses, but as they were near the pointed end of the tie, I would have said more as if she'd been pulling them tighter. But of course I've no idea if that was the intention or not. In the back of a moving car, she could just have been desperate and trying whatever way she could to escape.'
Kate came to the door once more to let the boss in. He'd sent a text ahead to let her know what time he hoped to be there. They took the opportunity to exchange a few words in the front garden before going inside to talk to Morgane again.
'No more sketch books, boss. She says the others are at the house. She's keen to get them back, as well as some more clothes, and her phone.'
Ted frowned. He didn't remember any mention of sketch books in the inventory from the house. He made a mental note to check again.
Morgane and her father were in the front room, which was again warmer than Ted found comfortable. He slipped a hand through his tie to loosen it and undo his top button. He again produced the photocopy of Morgane's sketch and held it up to her.