by Edward Figg
‘DCI Carter, Sergeant Baxter. Good morning,’ he said, his voice muffled by the face mask.
Carter and Baxter returned his greeting.
He finished putting instruments back in his bag. ‘I’m all done.' He took off his blue nitrile gloves and tossed them in his bag. ‘It's a bad one and no mistake.’
Broadbent was tall and distinguished. A few wispy grey hairs protruded out from under his hood. Carter guessed that under that paper suit, he would be dressed in his old houndstooth hacking jacket with the leather patches on the elbows. He always wore it. It was like his badge of office. He reminded Carter of an absent-minded professor.
‘Female, age twenty-five to thirty. All I can I tell you for the moment, is that she has a deep cut to the throat. Bled out on the carpet. The closest estimate I can give you for a time of death would be yesterday sometime between seven and midnight. I’ll know more when I get her back on the slab.’ He looked down at the body. Her hair was hiding most of her face. ‘Because she is lying on her back I didn’t want to move the body, I thought it best left in that position so the SOCOs can do their work. Instead of doing the usual rectal temperature check I’ve done an abdominal stab wound temperature check.’
He noticed the questioning look on the face of Baxter, and, looking at him, explained.
‘So as not to disturb too much of the clothing you make a small slit through it. Then, just above the lower rib you make a small incision into the body. You’re then able to check the liver temperature. That way the body isn’t moved’
Baxter accepted the explanation with a nod of the head and a grunt.
Carter looked around the room. It was sparsely furnished: a settee, couple of arm chairs, coffee table, TV and a glass bookcase. Some of the books looked old. A few were leather-bound. There were no signs of a struggle. All the furniture was still in place. He took a pen from his top pocket, bent down beside the dead woman and moved the hair away from her face. Her lifeless eyes stared back up at him. ‘Well,’ said Carter, ‘at least we know her name and where she worked. It's a starting point.’
‘There's not much more I can do here, so I’ll let you gents get on with it. I’ll get the post mortem done as soon as I can,’ said Broadbent, looking around the room.
Voices came drifting up the hallway.
‘Sound as if the forensic lads are here,’ said Carter. Ok, let's get out of their way and let them get on with their jobs.’
Tim Bryant, the SOCO's team leader and Carter exchanged a few words, then squeezing past the white-suited, scene of crime officers, the three made their way out.
Outside, two of Bryant's team had just finished putting up a tent at the entrance to the front door to give officers privacy from the prying eyes of the public. Here, all three removed their protective suits and tossed them into a bag held open for them by PC Ambrose. The street had now come alive. A small group of onlookers stood on the pavement intently watching the comings and goings. Carter noticed a familiar face. It was Wally Short, the reporter from the Kingsport Advertiser. He was talking to a woman and making notes. When he saw Carter, he tried to attract his attention and pushed his way, shouting and waving, through the small group of onlookers but was abruptly stopped at the garden gate by PC Cotton. Carter ignored his gestures and turned to Baxter.
‘Get on to the nick and get some uniforms up here to do a door-to-door. It's a cul-de-sac, one way in, same way out. If our friend was on foot or even in a car, chances are that some nosey neighbour might have seen something.’
Baxter moved out of earshot of the crowd at the gate and made the call
While Baxter was on his mobile, Carter walked over to where Robinson was sitting. A gentle breeze blew across the lawn as he sat down and introduced himself. A lone blackbird, searching for food, looked quizzically up at him from the flower bed. Carter could clearly see the man was in shock. His face was pale and his hands were shaking slightly.
‘I'm DCI Bob Carter. You're Special Constable Robinson? I believe you found the girl?’
‘Yes sir, Chief Inspector, I did. Bit of a shock I can tell you. In all my time as an SPO I have never seen anything like this. Seeing her lying there like that. Not what I had bargained on.’ He looked down at his feet breathing heavily and trying to compose himself.
‘It's ok. Take yer time son,’ he said, putting his hand on Robinson's shoulder. ‘You've had a nasty shock.'
‘It was just after eight thirty when I got here. The front door was wide open. I called out a few times and when nobody answered, I went in. I walked down the hall, calling as I went, then I came to the sitting room and saw her laying there. I nearly threw up. I needed to get out fast. I needed air. I was only in there a few seconds, but that was enough for me. I came out and dialled triple nine.’
‘We’ll need to get a full statement later, but for the time being, tell me how you came to be here this morning?’
Robinson paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. ‘I own the new and second-hand bookshop in the Market Square. Miss Newman, Maureen, often came in. I got to know her fairly well. She loved to read. We both had similar interest. We liked collecting old books. She said she had a few at home, most, she said, were reprints. Anyway, she came into my shop a few weeks ago, asking if I knew where she could get this book.’ He indicated the parcel lying beside him on the bench. ‘It was by Mary Shelley. Maureen said she’d tried at the library but they couldn’t help. She said if I could find her a copy, she’d take it. Well, after a lot of chasing around, I managed to get a copy for her. It's not an original, it’s a reprint.’
Carter remembered seeing some old books in her sitting room.
‘The book,’ said Robinson. ‘It's quite old. Not really my thing. It was first published back in 1830. Anyway, I phoned her up last night to let her know I’d got it. There was no answer so I left a message on her answering machine asking her to call me at home. Guess this is why she didn’t call; she was already dead.’ Carter made a mental note to check the answering machine.
‘She didn’t call me at home and as I only live three streets away, and I had the book with me, I decided to drop by first thing in the morning on my way to the shop.’ He took a deep breath and sighed.
‘What time did you phone her?’ said Carter.
‘Err, It would ‘ave been about eight-fifteen… ish last night,’ he said.
‘Well that narrows down the time of death. If she didn’t answer her phone, then the chances where, she was already dead,’ thought Carter.
Robinson leaned forward and, putting his hands between his knees, slowly shook his head, glanced sideways at Carter and then at the two garden gnomes down by his feet, and said, ‘Why the bloody hell would anybody want to kill a nice girl like that? It just doesn’t make sense. Why? Why?’
The gnomes remained silent.
Carter looked over towards the house. ‘At the moment that's one question I can't answer, but I intend to find out.’ He stood up. ‘I'll get someone to run you back home.'
He walked over to speak to Baxter.
‘Wait for SOCO to finish up. Get the house-to-house organised then meet me back at the nick. Get someone to take Robinson home.’
Carter decided he’d come back later to do a search of the house. He called over to PC Cotton and told him to take him back. At the gate, they pushed through the crowd of onlookers, and, ignoring the persistent questions from Wally Short, Carter got into the passenger seat of the patrol car. He sat staring out of the windscreen, mentally photographing the crime scene, then told Cotton to get moving. Cotton started the car, did a three-point turn, then sped off down the street.
Chapter 2
The automatic sliding doors parted, letting Carter into the reception area of the Kingsport Police Station. Before he could get to the stairs, Tom Crane, the Desk Sergeant, leaned out from over the counter and called. ‘Sir, there's a message for you from Superintendent Marsh. Said he’d like to see you the moment you got in. Looks like Mohamed will have to go to the
mountain?’ he said smiling.
‘Thanks Tom.’
Carter could well understand the use of that word to describe the Superintendent. He refrained from using it himself in front of other officers. Well, after all, Marsh was his boss when all was said and done. The word ‘mountain’ was what many in the station called Superintendent Alfred Marsh. Marsh was a large, overweight, unfit man of fifty-eight. He was due for retirement next year. Carter, in his fortieth year, was an athlete compared to Marsh. Most of those around the station were of the opinion that Marsh was well past his sell-by date and would be dead from a heart attack within the first year of retirement. Some of them said that walking up the steps to his office was the only exercise he’d ever got. His tight uniform jacket strained across his ample stomach making his already large frame look even larger. He hardly ever left his desk. Everybody he needed to see had to come to him. He’d come in at nine the morning and go out five on the dot. He had large lenses in his glasses that gave him an owlish appearance. He sometimes wore them perched on the end of his nose and peered over the top of them just like some Victorian office clerk in a Charles Dickens novel.
Carter sighed and put in the code that opened the security door that separated the reception area from the rest of the station. He climbed the stairs and walked along the passage. He tapped on the glass-fronted door with the painted sign on it that read, ‘Chief Superintendent’.
The mountain rumbled. ‘Come.’
He turned the handle and went in. ‘Morning sir.’
Marsh didn’t look up from his reading. He just pointed to the chair, indicating for Carter to sit. After a minute, he paused, signed the paper he'd been reading then put it in the tray marked 'Out.' He leaned back in his seat ‘OK, Chief Inspector, before we start. The mortuary rang. Doc Broadbent has scheduled the post mortem for this afternoon at two.’ Then, straight to the point, he said, ‘So, tell me about this body?’
He sat listening as Carter gave to him the details.
‘So, killed yesterday. The 31st was my wife's birthday. Err… ' He interlocked the fingers of his hands across his broad midriff and stared up at the ceiling. He looked as if he was waiting for heavenly intervention though Carter. Carter half expected him to shout, ‘Eureka! I know who the killer is.’ Instead, he came forth with, 'He was found by Robo. Nice fellow that. Knew his father well. Used to be a member of my golf club. Not that I play that much these days. Must have been a nasty shock for him.’
‘Bleeding heck,’ thought Carter. ‘Am I the only one in this whole blasted station who's never heard of Robo?’
Marsh continued. ‘We need to get to the bottom of this and get it sorted quickly Inspector. We don’t want this kind of thing happening in Kingsport. We can’t have a killer walking our streets. It's very bad Chief Inspector, very, very, bad. We need to wrap this one up and we need to do it quickly. What are you doing about it?’
Carter noticed that Marsh was looking up at the clock on the far wall.
‘He's just counting the minutes until he can go home, can’t wait to leave,’ thought Carter.
‘I’ll know more when we get the autopsy and the forensic reports back sir. All I have at the moment is her name and workplace. I’m going there later this afternoon and uniform are doing a door-to-door as we speak.’
‘OK. Keep me informed. Oh, I also see there was another break-in last night at Green Hills Estate.’ He tapped one of his fat fingers on a report. ‘Stuff from a garden shed. A pair of gardening shears and a hurricane lamp. Looks like the work of kids, wouldn’t you say, Inspector? This petty thieving need to be stopped, nipped in the bud. Get someone on to it. Do you have a list of all the stolen items that have gone missing since all this started?’
‘I’ll add these to it sir,’ he said, as Marsh handed him the report. ‘This will have to go on the back burner for a while,’ he thought, as he looked at the report.
As Carter stood up to go, Marsh said, ‘Oh, almost forgot.’ He picked up some papers and waved them at him. ‘That sergeant you’ve been shouting for. You got you wish. She arrives tomorrow. Her name is Marcia Kirby.’
‘She sir? But I thought you told me when I applied for more manpower that the budget had been cut back and the request was for a new sergeant was out of the question,’ exclaimed Carter somewhat surprised.
‘Yes. Forget all about budgets. Things have a habit of changing. Furthermore,’ said Marsh, ‘her father's a retired Chief Constable from the Cheshire force. You'd best keep on yer toes. She put in for a transfer from the Serious Crimes Unit. Wanted to be closer to her mother. For what reason, I don’t know. I believe her mother lives just outside of Ashford somewhere. I think daddy may have had a hand in her transfer. Under the present circumstances, and with her knowledge, I’m sure she’ll be an asset to this case. Her file is quite impressive. Murder should be right up her alley. And talking of that, don’t talk to the press. You can leave me to handle all that stuff. You just concentrate on this murder. He mutely indicated the meeting over by dismissing Carter with a nod of his head and a wave of his hand. Carter got up from his chair and headed for the door.
A few minutes later, he walked into the CID room and called them all together. DC Turner stood by the desk with Lynch. DS Reid, who was not long back from court, stood by the window. Carter brought them up to speed with the murder and set them their task. He told them about the new sergeant. They exchanged looks with one another when he said it was a woman.
'But I thought the Chief Super had put the mockers on that,' said Turner.
'Well, Bill! Turns out that daddy is ex-job, a CC no less. The transfer is for personal reasons. So maybe it's all about string pulling and the Chief Super had no say in the matter. I'm not complaining. The main thing is that I have what I wanted six months ago.’
They filed out of his office just as Baxter was coming in. When the office was empty, Baxter said, ‘SOCO have all finished up and I’ve left a uniform to guard the place.’
‘Broadbent has scheduled the post mortem for later this afternoon. You handle that will you Ted?’ Carter looked out through the door, to where Dave Lynch stood rummaging through a filing cabinet. ‘Take Dave with you, he could do with some fresh air. I’ll take Mike over to this café and talk to them. See if I can find out anything about her from her employer.’ He looked at his watch. 'That shouldn't take too long. I want to go back and have a good look over the house. He and Baxter walked out of his office. ‘Mike,’ he called. ‘You’re with me. He turned to Baxter. ‘We’ll all meet back here later.’ Carter again looked at his watch, ‘say, four thirty’.
*******
They walked across the parking area to where Carter's car stood. Mike Reid got quickly in the passenger side without saying a word. He had no intention of volunteering to drive. He decided it best not to make any comment about Carter's car.
The café was busy with the lunch time crowd when Carter and Reid arrived. They walked up to the counter and waited for the man in front of them to pay his bill before Carter identified himself and asked to see the manager. He was abruptly told by the young, harassed- looking girl behind the counter that Ms Wilcox was in her office. She told them to wait and hurried off. She soon reappeared with a middle-aged woman in tow. Carter quickly sized her up. She had high cheekbones. Carter guessed Nordic ancestry. Her looks impressed him. She was a tall, attractive looking woman with long fair hair. She had an inviting smile.
‘I’m Christine Wilcox, the owner, how can I help you?’ she said, looking concerned.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Bob Carter, and this is Detective Sergeant Mike Reid. I wonder if we can speak to you in private please?’
‘Certainly. If you’d like to follow me, we can talk in my office.’
She led them down a short passage to a door marked ‘Private.’ Once inside, she shut the door and invited them to sit. Carter sat. Reid took out his notebook and stood by the door. She positioned herself on the other side of her desk and sat down.
&nbs
p; ‘It's about one of your employees, a Miss Maureen Newman?’
‘I'm sorry Chief Inspector. She’s not in today. It's her day off. I can give you her address if you'd like.’
‘Umm, no that's fine thanks. We know her address. How long has she been working for you?’
‘Just over six years.’ She gave a look of alarm, then said, ‘Is something wrong, is she all right? Has something happened to her?’
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this,’ Carter said. He paused. ‘She was found dead at her home this morning. I’m afraid she was murdered,’ he said.
Christine Wilcox let out an anguished cry and put both hands to her mouth and stared wide-eyed back at him. Carter gave her a while to compose herself, then said, ‘Do you know if she had any relatives, boyfriends or friends in general?’
A small tear appeared in the corner of Christine's eye and ran down her cheek. She looked at Carter and said, ‘We were very good friends. She was a nice, quiet, reserved sort of girl, she didn’t have a big circle of friends. She got on well with everyone. She always had a smile for the customers, even the grumpy ones. She was well liked.’
‘Did she have any enemies. Has she upset anyone?’ said Reid from the door.
‘Enemies? No, none. Who would want to harm her? I can’t imagine anyone doing that to her. She does have a boyfriend. His name is Mark, Mark Wilson. He's a nice lad. The three of us have often gone out together. He works as a salesman for Titian Farm Machinery near Faversham. You won’t find him there at the moment because, if I remember correctly, Maureen told me the other day that he was away in Ireland and wasn’t due back until Saturday. He's over there selling or doing something with tractors. Oh! Poor Mark, he’ll be devastated. I know there is an aunt. She lives somewhere in Dorset. I know her name is Mildred. From what I can gather, they weren’t all that close.’