by Clare Curzon
He switched on the coffeemaker and returned to his desk while it began to burble. ‘As for Miss Rachel Howard, I’ve been in touch with her brother Martin in Edinburgh. He confirmed that she has been absent from her own apartment in the family home for over a week. He is flying down, due in at Heathrow this afternoon, to identify our body. Which, in the circumstances will be difficult visually. Dental information will be needed as well, until they’ve processed the DNA sample.’
He waited until they were sipping his special-blend Mocha before he dropped his bombshell.
‘Professor Littlejohn has given me a rundown of his final deliberations on the post mortem findings. He is now satisfied, from further analysis of the trauma, that although the cause of death was manual strangulation, the fall from the college roof was by no means a simple event. Like the ladies’ fractures, it was, in fact, compound.’
Beaumont suddenly sat up straight. ‘Sir, d’you mean …?’
‘I mean she fell off more than one roof.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Uniform were working in conjunction with Drugs branch and Beaumont had gone along as an interested party. DI Salmon was happy to let them net the abductors of Micky Kane. He could then take over with the more serious charge of murder. Arthur Goodenough, aka ‘Fanny’, was happily ensconced in a cell for further questioning and regular meals. It was hoped that he would eventually pick Micky’s captors from an identity parade. He had lingered a moment at his cell door, modestly delighted to see his full name being written up outside in chalk capitals. ‘Yeah, it’s nice to be wanted,’ the custody sergeant said, ‘if only for vagrancy.’
Meanwhile DI Salmon resumed his interest in Oliver Markham. To satisfy Crown Prosecution that this suspect was a double killer he would require a deal more hard evidence than a bloodstained travel rug. Seating himself again opposite the wretched man, who appeared to have shrunk in the interval, he was determined to extract a confession.
‘Let’s start again at the beginning,’ he invited, baring unlovely teeth, ‘where you first met Miss Judd in the saloon bar of the Crown. What attracted you to her?’
Markham stared unhappily back. She’d been on her own and that was all. He’d been bored and thought he’d take a rise out of her. She was big and sloppy and undesirable. But she was there, and that had been enough. He would need to watch his words.
‘She looked lonely,’ he said carefully. And then he remembered. ‘I think she fancied the barman but he wasn’t taking her up on it. Not then, anyway.’
Trying to shift suspicion, Salmon noted. Understandable move, that. ‘Remind me: what he was he called.’
‘Ramón. A Spaniard, or South American or something.’
Filipino, Salmon recalled. Quite different, he’d look more oriental. It might be worth getting this Ramón’s angle on Markham. He’d left questioning him to his sergeants. Time he checked on the barman himself.
‘Go on. How did the relationship develop?’
‘She invited me to visit her at the penthouse where she worked, so I dropped in one afternoon. I was sorry for her, is all. She was keen to have someone to talk to. This was before she got Ramón to go and work there.’ Markham had revived a little, warming to the image of himself as a kindly friend.
Ramón again, now as a co-worker. He’d certainly be worth looking into. ‘So there was some competition between the two of you, for her favours?’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Markham denied it heatedly. ‘She just used me, I guess, to get at him.’
‘But you did have sexual relations with the woman?’
Markham paused, remembered the police had the rug. There could be other stains than blood on it. ‘Well, Sheena was pretty desperate. Any man would do.’
‘Did you pay her?’
And so it went on, slowly, inexorably, tying him in, working towards the Sunday afternoon when she’d begged to go out in his car, and he’d driven her out to Coombe Hill. Yes; he agreed she’d officially been on duty at the penthouse, but somebody had stayed behind in charge. And anyway the old lady would be asleep for hours. It was what she did every afternoon, so Sheena said.
‘That would be this Ramón on duty? You both left when he arrived?’
Markham considered his answer. It would be easier if he knew what statement the other man had made. Best perhaps to stick to the truth. Or somewhere near it. ‘He was nearly due, and he’s a punctual sort of bloke. In any case the insurance man was there, looking at the pictures. He said he’d be staying on an hour or two and he offered to let Ramón in.’
‘Sheena Judd trusted him to keep an eye on the old lady?’
‘Like I said, she was asleep.’
‘So you drove the woman to Coombe Hill, where you had sex. And were the last to see her alive.’
Markham shot upright. ‘Who said she’s dead? She was perfectly all right when I left her.’
‘Left her where? And exactly when?’ Salmon’s fishy gaze fixed on the man’s hands which had jumped like electrified rodents.
Markham clenched his jaw. From that point on he’d have to resort to fiction.
Salmon listened while he explained how he’d dropped her at a bus stop because he’d clients to see. They were slippery beggars and the house had always been deserted. But early on a Sunday evening he’d hopes of catching them at home.
The DI leaned back in his chair unimpressed. Leave him to sweat while still on the hook, he decided. Follow up a sideline. ‘So this insurance man you mentioned, what would his name be?’
‘How would I know? He was someone the senior nurse had made the arrangement with.’
‘A total stranger, then. Right.’ Salmon lowered his eyes to the notes in front of him and let a silence build before he pounced. ‘And Rachel Howard: how did you get to meet her?’
‘Who?’ Markham stared back in what seemed genuine amazement.
Slumped against the wall, Keith Stanford crouched with his head in his hands and tried to understand what had happened. Part of him saw it all from the outside, like something he’d been called in to deal with. As police-surgeon: violent death. But it was Audrey, his wife, and he couldn’t believe that she was actually dead; and dead in this way.
Only twenty minutes earlier she’d called him, wanting a plastic bag to put her ankle boots in because they’d got uncomfortable and she’d be sending them to a charity shop. So he’d indulged her whim, like all her other little oddities.
Then, without warning, this. It was obscene. She’d have hated anyone to see her like this.
Now he must get to the phone. Talk to the police, the coroner’s office. Someone other than himself would have to confirm death. And maybe the pathologist would want to come and view the – view her in situ. Suddenly so much to do which hadn’t been needed minutes back. But that is what death did. Changed everything, irrevocably, in a flash.
The news reached Yeadings in a roundabout way, by a phone call from Nan. She had been driving past and saw the blue lights turning in at the Stanfords’ gate. Being neighbourly, she’d followed them in. She found Keith, taut-faced and pale, being dissuaded from re-entering the house. Whether suicide or not, it was now a secured police scene accessible only to the experts.
She put a hand on his bowed shoulder and he let her lead him next door. Nan had guessed that word of this would take time to percolate through to Mike from police sources.
‘Should I come home?’ he asked when she phoned.
‘It would be good to have a man here on standby. Keith’s taking it badly.’
‘In half an hour, then. There’s not much I’m needed for here at the moment. I’ll get a note to Z and she can warn Salmon I’m away’ Nan would know how to treat a man in shock, better than he would himself. Poor devil, this was the second attempt his wife had made on her life, and this time it seemed she’d succeeded.
He sorted the papers on his desk, switched off the coffeemaker and heaved himself into his overcoat, remembering that this morning Nan had advised him
to take a raincoat instead. And been right. He left by the front entrance, passing two stout women who were coming in, arguing. The older one’s words stopped him in his tracks.
‘Sheen, you’ve got to tell them. There was a real fuss made when you let Miss Orme down.’
Yeadings halted. ‘Mrs Judd?, can I help you?’
It didn’t surprise her that he knew who she was. A policeman, after all, although he wasn’t in uniform.
‘We’ve just come to say my daughter isn’t missing at all. She’d gone to stay with a friend of her old auntie out Wendover way. And they haven’t a phone, you see.’
He smiled. ‘Good of you to let us know, Mrs Judd. I wish everyone was as cooperative.’ He turned to the younger woman. ‘You appear to have been in the wars.’
The remains of a black eye was flowering yellow, purple and green alongside a misshapen and bloodied nose. A liberal application of cake makeup failed to cover what must still be painful injuries.
‘Got mugged, didn’t I?’ she claimed sulkily. ‘And it’s no good asking what he looked like because it was dark and he had a scarf over his face.’
‘So when and where did this happen?’
‘Coupla days back. In the lane near auntie’s friend’s bungalow.’
‘I hope you reported it to the local police.’
‘Fat lotta good that’d do.’
‘Well, speak to the officer on the desk, and ask to see DS Zyczynski.’
‘That’s the nice young woman I told you about,’ said the mother. ‘She’ll tell you if there’s any way of getting compensation.’
‘No harm in trying,’ Yeadings encouraged, raised his hat and felt rain plop on his forehead. ‘Better get inside before the downpour.’
‘What is it?’ Salmon snarled as the duty sergeant knocked and put his head round the interview room door. ‘We can’t be disturbed.’
‘Phone for DS Zyczynski, sir.’ He watched the DI’s face go purple, and got the punch line in before he exploded. ‘From the super, sir. He’s phoning from his car.’
‘We’ll take a break,’ Salmon growled.
Z formally closed the interview for the tapes and switched off.
‘Don’t be all day.’
‘Right, sir. I’ll get some tea sent in.’
In the corridor the duty sergeant was grinning. ‘Actually it’s a verbal message. The missing Sheena Judd has just walked in, large as life and twice as ugly, face covered in old bruises. I couldn’t give it to you in front of the suspect. He’s probably the one who clobbered her.’
‘Sweet heaven,’ sighed Z. ‘And the DI’s just had his other case blow up in his face. It’s just not his day. But thank God the woman’s alive. Look, write the gist down for the DI, would you, and let him have it along with the tea. But give me a chance to talk with her myself first.’
‘My pleasure. They do say wild salmon’s the best sort, don’t they?’
Sheena still wasn’t being forthcoming and it was getting her mother distinctly annoyed. Z had taken them through to the canteen where they sat together at a corner table with a tray of tea and some Danish to help the talk along.
‘Look, you do know who did this to you,’ Z insisted. ‘You’ll find it’s easier in the long run to explain what happened rather than have to remember what tall stories you made up instead. Believe me, I’ve been there.’
‘It was that man she went off with, only she won’t admit she goes for the wrong sort every time.’ Mrs Judd had her mind made up on this.
‘It’s nobody’s business but my own. You can’t force me to …’
‘But why protect him? You can’t like him after he done this, surely?’
‘Mum, you don’t understand.’
Z put a cautionary hand on her wrist. ‘If he does this once, he’s likely to go on doing it until we stop him. He’s a danger to other women as well. Could someday kill one. Do you want that?’
‘I don’t deserve this,’ wailed Sheena, near to tears. ‘It’s not my fault. He’s an animal. I told him no, no, no, no! Only he wouldn’ t listen. So I kneed him in the nuts and tried to get away. But he came after me and did this. Then he drove off and left me. I had to walk miles on me own in the dark. I couldn’t let anyone see me like that.’
‘Did he – did he, I mean …?’
‘Not that time. But just taking me out in his car doesn’t give him the right, Mum, does it?’
‘But you’d done it before? Had sex, I mean.’
‘Well, sort of. Only he’s rough, and I made up me mind I wouldn’t let him again.’
‘Well, you are a fool,’ her mother said. ‘You should know by now what most men are after, and he doesn’t sound the sort to play games with.’
‘I never did,’ Sheena wailed. ‘I knew you’d go on like this. That’s why I couldn’t come home. I wish I’d never met the bloody man, and now I suppose he’s made me lose me job as well!’
Yeadings recognized the mortuary van and patrol car, but the classic MG was a new one to him. He decided to drop in and see how things were going before he had to encounter the tragically widowed Stanford.
‘Sir,’ the patrolman greeted him. ‘The doc’s looking at the body now. His name’s Holland-Prees. Very young, sir. Enthusiastic.’
But taking it seriously, Yeadings considered, walking in on him. He introduced himself and saw interest light in the man’s eyes. ‘Superintendent?’ he queried. ‘Bringing in the big guns? Are you expecting something suspicious?’
‘It happens I’m a neighbour. The dead woman’s husband is next door with my wife, who was a nurse.’
‘I see.’ The sprightliness left the young man’s face. ‘Actually I’ve done more than confirm life’s extinct. I took a little look, as well as body and air temperatures. But otherwise I’ve left her as she was.’
Audrey Stanford’s head was still enveloped in a plastic bag, her face cyanosed, mouth agape. Yeadings stared down to where Holland-Prees was pointing.
‘It’s not very distinct, but I’m pretty sure the wrists are chafed. If a ligature was used the bruises will take time to come up. That’s why I didn’t remove the bag. It was clearly too late to save her. The body was already cooling.’
Yeadings crouched to look more closely, reached into his overcoat for his reading spectacles and grunted. ‘You think she’d been tied up?’
‘Restrained in some way. Then released. Presumably after death.’
‘I see.’ He rose to his feet. This was unexpected. The young medic had done well not to interfere with how she’d been found. He went out to where the patrolman was leaning against his car. ‘Was there anyone else in the house?’ he demanded.
‘Just the husband. He was pretty cut up. He came in from digging the garden and found her. Said she was supposed to be sleeping after lunch. He’s gone next door with a neighbour.’
‘I’ll see him there. Secure the scene. I’m sending SOCO in. Make sure no one else is allowed inside.’
He reversed his car and drove the few hundred yards to his own driveway. Before getting out he made two phone calls, the first to SOCO with detailed instructions and then pressed out the Prof’s University number, waiting while Littlejohn was fetched to the phone. ‘I’ve something that will interest you, I think,’ he told the pathologist, and gave him the address.
‘Hmm,’ the professor remarked to his clerical assistant. ‘That was Mike Yeadings with the offer of a new body. If I didn’t know what an old hand he is at it, I’d have said he sounded upset.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Beaumont came in grinning. The drugs bust had been successful enough to merit exposure on the evening TV news. It had yielded several thousand pounds-worth of Class A substances and a list of addresses, at one of which a coordinated raid on a Met’s patch had produced two local men who’d fled there after Micky’s body was taken from the river. Now the DS and DI Salmon were to interview them as soon as they arrived under escort.
In the Boss’s absence it was left to Z to de
al with Martin Howard and drive him to the mortuary. Even prepared for the worst, his reaction when the sheet was turned back to reveal his half-sister’s broken face was startling. The mortuary assistant was there as he collapsed and, helped by Z, supported him from the room.
‘We did what we could in the time allowed,’ he admitted afterwards, ‘but there’s a limit to how much you can cover up. Would you say he recognized her?’
‘Almost certainly. He’s taken it badly. They must have been close.’
Watching the man, she thought he had come round some time before he opened his eyes and murmured, ‘Yes, I’m almost sure it’s Rachel. And that necklace: it was her mother’s.’
‘There’s an overcoat she left behind at her grandmother’s apartment. You’d better see that too. I’ll take you there later.’
‘Where did you say she was found?’
Zyczynski explained. ‘We don’t yet know why she was at the college at all, or how she got there. It was bitterly cold that evening and she wasn’t wearing the coat. Did she come by car from Edinburgh?’
‘No, she took the train.’
‘Are you sure?’
He hesitated. ‘I guess she must have said she was going to do that. But she might have hired a car when she got here. Listen, it’s all been a terrible shock. Do you mind if I go to my hotel for a while?’
He told her where he’d checked in and she arranged to pick him up two hours later after he’d rested. ‘I don’t suppose you have a photograph of Rachel with you?’ she asked as she dropped him off.
‘Actually, yes. I brought it to help with identifying her.’ He reached in an inner pocket and produced a studio portrait. It was certainly the woman Z had seen at the penthouse claiming to be Rachel Howard.