by Edward Figg
Mike Reid took out his note and jotted down the details.
‘How many people do you employ here?’ asked Carter.
‘There's Jenny, who you met when you came in. She was at the counter, and there's young Clive Patterson. He's been with me just over a year. He's just seventeen, learning the trade. Washing up, waiting tables and the like. There's also our chef, Helen Walters.’
‘When did you last see Miss Newman?’, asked Carter.
‘Yesterday. She left here just after three-thirty.’
‘Did she say she was meeting anyone?’
‘No. She said she was going home to take a tablet and lie down. She said she felt one of her migraines coming on.’
‘OK. I’ll send someone round later to talk to the rest of your staff. They may have information that could help. Thank you, Mrs Wilcox. That will be all for the moment. If you think of anything else, please get in touch.’ He handed her one of his cards.
With a weak, tearful smile, she looked at him, and said. ‘Actually, it's Miss, Miss Wilcox.’ She wiped away a tear, tossed her head slightly, and smiled at him again.
He rose from his seat. She came out from behind her desk and led the way out of her office.
As he and Reid walked up the passage together, Carter looked at his watch and suggested they grab a bite on the way out. He’d noticed, on the way in, the sandwiches in the display cabinet looked very fresh and appealing. ‘Not at all like those ones in the police canteen,’ he thought.
A few minutes later, Carter stood outside on the pavement with an egg and tomato sandwich and a take-away coffee. Reid had the same but had added a side order of chips. They waited for a bus to pass them then crossed the road to where the car was parked.
Sitting there in the car, Carter remembered the look on Christine Wilcox's face as he and Reid left her office. The loss of her friend has left her looking pale, very upset and visibly shaken.
As he took a mouthful of his sandwich, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. For some strange reason, and why he didn’t know, he felt strangely attracted to her.
As he ate, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Reid staring at him.
He turned ‘What?’ he said. ‘Have I got egg on my face?’ He adjusted the rear-view mirror.
‘Sort of,’ chuckled Reid. ‘Back there, didn’t you see the signs? That lady was flirting with you.’
‘Sergeant… shut up and eat your lunch.’
Reid smiled, took a sip of coffee then shifted his attention to a group of children playing football in the nearby park.
Carter was silent for a full minute. Halfway through his sandwich he stopped chewing and looked at Reid. ‘Was she really?’
Still with his gaze directed towards the children, Reid watched one of them score a goal and then run around waving his hands in the air. He turned back to Carter and, popping a chip in his mouth, said, ‘I’d stake my reputation on it.’
Chapter 3
Police Constable Alan Hobson was on duty at the house when Carter and Reid arrived. He was sitting in his patrol car at the end of the driveway, taking shelter out of the breeze and thumbing through a magazine. Before they got to the front door, a bored looking Hobson got out of the car, ambled across to them and held out the crime scene attendance log for them to sign. ‘How long do you want me to stay here sir?’ he queried.
‘Are we keeping you from something? Got somewhere better to be, Hobson?’ asked Carter.
‘No sir it's just… Well.’
‘The boyfriend should be home tomorrow. If forensic don't need to come back, it'll only be for today. You go back to your car and finish yer porn mag. Inspector McPhee will let the shifts know.’
As he walked back to his patrol car, Hobson said, indignantly, ‘It's about fishing, actually sir.’
Carter smiled as Hobson departed. He knew exactly what it was. It was Hobson's hobby. It was all the man ever talked about or read. He was often overheard referring to his wife as an old trout.
While they had eaten their lunch, Carter made a call to Kent Street asking for details and telling Turner to contact Titian Farm Machinery and get the phone number for the boyfriend over in Ireland. He told Turner to break the news to the man and get him to contact CID when he returned. He also told Turner to check bank details and get the phone records for Maureen Newman.
Once inside the house, Reid started his search upstairs. Carter turned his attention to the downstairs area.
In the living room, he looked at where the body was found. She had been lying on her back between the sofa and the kitchen. Her head was facing the sofa. In the kitchen, he found two cups containing coffee and sugar next the electric kettle. He tried to play out the scene in his head. He thought it out. She must have known the killer otherwise she wouldn’t have let him in and possibly, offered him coffee. It looks as if she set out the cups then returned to the living room. Here, her assailant came up behind her, pulled her head back, slit her throat then lowered her to the floor. There's a good possibility he'd got her blood on him. Robbery was definitely not the motive, because there is still money in her handbag. This was a violent, premeditated, well-planned murder.
He checked the rest of the downstairs rooms. There were two doors in the kitchen. He guessed one led directly into the garage. He opened it. In there, a white Mini Minor was parked. He opened the door and looked through the contents of the glove box. Finding nothing, he went back into the kitchen. The other door led out to the back garden. He went out and looked around. There was a high fence around three sides of the house separating it from the neighbouring properties. He went back in to the living room and started going through the drawers in the sideboard. He found nothing of importance. There were traces of powder on some of the surfaces where forensic had dusted for fingerprints. He found an address book by the phone, looked inside, and then put it in his pocket. He walked over to the answering machine and pressed the playback button to confirm what Robinson had said. Carter listened to his voice saying he had news about the book, and asking her to ring him back. By the phone, he picked up a small framed photo of Newman and a man with his arm around her. He removed it from the frame and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He looked in her handbag and found a diary. He read through some of it.
Just then, Reid came back down the stairs and in to the living room. ‘Nothing in the rooms up there, boss.’ he said. ‘No signs of a disturbance and nothing of any significance. Wardrobe is full of women's clothes, usual stuff. The other two bedrooms are empty. She just used the one. There's some men's toilet articles in the bathroom and a few of men's clothing in the wardrobe and bedside table. Must be the boyfriend's?’
Carter stood by the small coffee table next to the settee and looking down, he read from a few lines of the library survey form that was lying there. ‘I found her diary. Nothing much in that. I did find her address book.’ He looked around the living room one last time, checked the time on his watch and said, ‘OK, that's about it. There's nothing more we can learn here. Let's get back to Kent Street.’
******
Driving into the hospital car park, Baxter turned to Lynch, and said, ‘How many post-mortems have you been to?’
‘A few. I hate the smell of the place. Makes me queasy’
Baxter said, ‘Old Broadbent's predecessor, Eldridge would sometimes insist you stand there while he did the carving. Use to love to do that to first timers.’
They got out of the car, and with Baxter in the lead, set off into the hospital's interior. He knew where he was going. He’d been here a few times before. He walked quickly along corridors, past wards and offices and then into a lift. He hit the button for the basement. On reaching the basement, the doors opened. Directly in front of them was a door marked ‘Mortuary.’ Baxter pushed through the double swing doors and went in.
The first thing Lynch noticed was the smell of disinfectant and the coolness of the place. It was well lit. Broadbent was hunched over the body of the woman as she lay on o
ne of the three stainless steel autopsy tables. Her body was partially covered in a white sheet. Broadbent was well at ease in this environment. He was dressed in a green gown, white rubber boots, hat and a protective plastic face mask. He looked up as the two entered. Baxter introduced Lynch to Broadbent.
‘Ahh! Welcome, gentlemen. You’re just in time.’ He straightened up from his task and greeted Lynch. ‘I’ve done a preliminary examination. If you look here,’ he said, pointing to both sides of the neck, ‘there's bruising. I think I can safely say they were made by thumbs and fingers. I won't be able to establish a possible cause of death until I do the full autopsy. There's also more here.’ He gestured to the mortuary technician to assist him and together they turned the corpse on its side.
Lynch and Baxter moved in for a closer look. Lynch was looking pale. Broadbent noticed and said. ‘If you feel like fainting young man, please don’t fall on the corpse. There's some bruising on the back of the neck. This was made by the thumbs and fingers.’ The body was returned to its normal position. He pointed at the eyes. ‘You can clearly see the blood here in the eyes. This happens because the tiny capillaries burst due to the pressure on the veins in the head. This happens from restriction of the airway. It's a sure indication of strangulation.’
He straightened up, looked up at them and said, ‘So, do you want stand here while I get on with the cutting or would you prefer the comfort of the office over there?’ He indicated towards the glass fronted office. ‘There's coffee or tea.’
The autopsy took just over an hour and a half. Baxter and Lynch looked up as George, the technician, tapped on the office window. He pointed over to where Broadbent stood next to the dissecting table. He beckoned them over. They went to a bench by the far side of the room where Broadbent had moved. Baxter said, ‘Found something interesting, Doc?’ Broadbent looked across the other side of the table to where Lynch stood staring intently into a small metal dish and said, ‘Apart from the neck, there's no other bruising on the body and no defensive wounds. There's nothing under the fingernails to indicate that she scratched her assailant. The big news is that the wound to the throat was not the main cause of death. She died of strangulation,’ he paused for effect. ‘The hyoid bone was broken.’
Lynch took out his notebook and raised both eyebrows, sending the pathologist a questioning look. Anatomy, he was first to admit, was not one of his strongest subjects. The look was picked up by Broadbent. He looked straight at Lynch.
‘DC Lynch, don't they teach you anything at police training college?’
‘The body to me is just like a woman. It's a total bloody mystery. Let's keep it that way shall we Doc?’
‘OK. Being an ignorant flatfoot, you wouldn't understand, so let me explain… He pointed out a full sized diagram of the human skeleton that was hanging on the wall. All the bones were indicated with arrows. He pointed out the bone. 'The primary function of the bone is to serve as an anchoring structure for the tongue. In case you're wondering, that's that big red thing that sticks out of your mouth.’
Lynch gave him disgruntled look and said, ‘Yes. No need to rub it in. I know what a tongue is.’
'The bone is situated at the root of the tongue in the front of the neck. I'm sure you don't need me to explain what the neck is. Or do you?’
'Ok Doc. No need to take the piss. I got the message,' Lynch said, in a hurt voice.
'Good lad. Anyway, the bone is between the lower jaw and the largest cartilage of the larynx, or, to the uninitiated, the voice box. It has no articulation with other bones and thus has a purely anchoring function.’ He rocked back on his heels. 'And here endeth your first lesson.'
Lynch knew he was beaten and decided to keep his mouth firmly shut and not ask any more questions.
‘That dish you were looking at DC Lynch. Pass it over please,’ said Broadbent.
Lynch passed it over.
‘This is the bone that I filleted out. Take a look. The bone, as you can see, has three distinct notches. It has been snapped like a twig.’ He took a breath, then continued. ‘It would have taken a strong pair of hands to do that and whoever did it, strangled her from behind. That would account for the pattern of bruising on the sides of the neck. They were pressure points. He then lowered her to the floor and then proceeded to cut her throat. He may have even waited a few minutes before he did that. My best guess, going by the shape and depth of the cut, is that it was done with a very narrow blade. I’ll need to carry out some tests but my best experienced guess tells me it could be something like a scalpel. The cut was made from left to right indicating your man was right-handed. It was made in one clean sweep, and with the heart already stopped there’d be minimal blood spattering. In this case, the cut was not deep enough to have severed both carotid arteries and the jugular vein. If that had been the case and the heart was still pumping, then the blood would have drained from her body in a matter of seconds. It would spray everywhere. The carotid artery is pretty big, and the blood would be pumped out of the cut artery by the heart very rapidly.’
Lynch stopped making notes and said, ‘Any signs of a sexual assault?’
‘No,’ said Broadbent, 'I’m no psychiatrist, but whoever did this is deranged yet very methodical. He didn’t rush it. He took his time. He's cool as well as cunning. In a street like that, he could have run the risk of being seen. It's almost as if it were a challenge, a thrill in fact… Anyway, I’d better get cracking and get on or I won’t have this report ready. Best not leave the Chief Inspector waiting. You should have it first thing in the morning.’
‘OK, thanks Doc. At least we have a bit more to go on.’ Baxter looked at his watch and said, ‘We’d best be getting back. We got a meeting back at the nick shortly.’ He and Lynch headed for the lift leaving Broadbent on his way into his office. Baxter lead the way out with Lynch following a few paces behind.
As they walked back up the corridor Baxter chuckled and said, 'Just so you know in case of any future visits. Doc Broadbent is a good pathologist but he does like his little jokes. You walked straight into it with that confused look you gave him about the hyoid.’
Lynch decided that he wasn't going to get caught a second time. It was time to read up on anatomy. He'd show the old sod next time… if there was one.
DC Bill Turner sat at his desk, coffee mug in one hand. He’d just put the phone down when Carter and Reid walked back into the CID room. ‘Boss,’ he said, following them in to Carter. ‘I've been in touch with the boyfriend. Poor sod couldn't stop crying. He's coming back on the first available flight.’
‘Anything come from the door-to-door enquiries?’ Carter said, handing Turner the photo of the girl.
Turner went out to his desk and came back holding a slim folder. He’d read through the reports earlier. He laid it on Carters desk ‘Bugger all from the house-to-house. No one's seen anybody suspicious. The only people that were seen were the milkman, the postman and the paperboy. There was someone from the library doing a survey, but the old lady, Mrs Alice Prior, said she knew the man. The PC who spoke to her has noted that the old girl was a bit vague about the time she saw him; she thinks it was around about lunch time.’
‘Time line's all wrong,’ said Carter. We're looking for early evening callers. Best check him out anyway.’
Carter's phone rang. He leant over and picked it up. It was Baxter. He listened, jotted down some notes on the pad in front of him, then said, ‘Good, thanks Ted,’ and hung up. ‘She was strangled first, then her throat was cut,’ he said. ‘That would account for why there was no blood splatter.’
‘I have checked her phone records,’ said Turner. ‘In the last month, she's made calls to the bank, her workplace and the travel agents in the High Street and the boyfriend. Last one she made was to him yesterday at four in the afternoon. It's the same mobile number that Titian gave me to contact him on.’
Carter looked up at the wall clock ‘OK. Let's wait for the other to come in, then we’ll get everyone up to date.’ Turner
left the office. He went over and sat down at his desk.
Carter went to make himself a coffee, then went back to his office, shutting the door behind him. He pulled out Maureen Newman's diary and started thumbing his way through it. After a while, he picked up the address book. Turning a few pages, he found what he was looking for. It was the address and phone number of the aunt in Devon. Christine Wilcox had been correct; it was Mildred, Mildred Ashcroft. He took a mouthful of coffee, picked up the phone and dialled the number. He never liked informing the next of kin about the death of a loved one. It was never easy.
He’d just hung up after being on the phone with Mildred Ashcroft when he saw Baxter and Lynch returning from the autopsy. He walked out of his office and called them all over to the incident board, where Turner was pinning up the photo of Maureen Newman.
‘Ok, bring everybody up to date with the autopsy results please.’ He nodded to Lynch.
Lynch consulted his notebook. It took only a few minutes to summarise the details. There only one question. That came from Bill Turner.
‘Did he have any idea what sort of knife was used?’ he said.
‘At this stage. He thinks it's a scalpel. He needs to do a bit more checking but he's normally right,’ said Baxter.
Turner moved away, sat on the edge of the desk and started dunking a biscuit in his coffee. It broke off and sank below the surface. Mumbling under his breath, he reached for a spoon to fish it out.
‘We got nothing from the door-to-door. No one saw anything unusual. We got sod all to go on. The boyfriend will be home tomorrow, maybe he can shed some more light on it. And before anybody says anything, I have done a check and he was in Ireland when the incident took place, so that rules him out,’ said Turner.
‘I got nothing from the aunt in Devon. Nothing there that would help,’ said Carter. ‘They only exchange Christmas cards once a year and she's not spoken to her niece for at least six months. Our victim was twenty-eight. Aunt told me she owns the house. It was left to her by her parents. They were killed in a car crash back in 2001. They also left her about five thousand pounds.’