by Damien Boyd
‘Not Muriel. You can’t think . . .’ Her voice tailed off.
‘Tell me about Betalin UK,’ said Dixon. ‘It’s part owned by you and the Swedish company?’
‘Yes.’
‘Only I had a rummage through the company accounts, not that I’m an accountant, you understand, and there were various bonus payments being made. What are those for?’
‘Performance bonuses.’
‘For increased sales?’
‘Yes.’
‘How does that work then? I mean, you can’t make people get type 1 diabetes, can you?’
‘No.’
‘So, how d’you increase your sales?’
‘We market to doctors and consultants. Make sure that Betalin is the brand they’re thinking of when they are prescribing.’
‘And where does animal insulin fit in with that?’
‘There’s no bonus payable for orders of animal insulin,’ whispered Dr McConnell.
‘You’re gonna have to speak up a bit for the tape, Dr McConnell,’ said Dixon. ‘Can you repeat your last answer?’
‘There’s no bonus for animal insulin orders.’
‘That’s right,’ said Dixon. ‘And according to this memo, there’s a penalty, isn’t there? For the record DI Dixon is handing to Dr McConnell a copy of a memo from Patrick Sondgren dated 31 January last year.’
Dr McConnell took the piece of paper, glanced at it and then handed it to Waters.
‘How much pressure are you under to wind down orders for animal insulin?’
‘It’s a business. You wind down the less profitable parts of your business and expand the more profitable.’
‘But people depend on animal insulin . . .’
‘I can’t help that,’ snapped Dr McConnell.
‘What would’ve happened if Elizabeth and Tom Perry had continued their campaign to raise awareness of animal insulin?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you do,’ said Dixon. ‘Let’s assume Tom became an MP and used parliamentary privilege to blow the whole thing wide open, that the NHS are buying the most expensive insulin, which costs you less to produce than animal insulin . . .’
‘I . . .’
‘And which, incidentally, is just as effective at regulating blood sugar levels.’
Dixon watched Dr McConnell’s eyes darting around the room, first at Waters, then Louise, then back to him. She began picking at the seam of her jeans.
‘I’m going to assume that’s why you had her killed,’ said Dixon.
‘No.’
‘A pregnant woman.’
‘I didn’t know she was . . .’
‘To preserve your profit margin.’
‘No.’
‘And I suppose you thought Tom would drop the campaign if his wife was no longer around?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘What was it like then?’
Waters leaned over and whispered in Dr McConnell’s ear.
‘No comment,’ she said.
‘Just a week or so ago now we visited an address in Torquay,’ said Dixon.
Dr McConnell looked up.
‘And what d’you think we found?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, after the man had pointed a gun at me and been shot by armed police, we found a little over twenty thousand pounds in used notes.’
Dr McConnell shook her head.
‘And the serial numbers of those bank notes match exactly the serial numbers of the cash you withdrew from your bank and building society accounts last September.’
‘It wasn’t . . .’
‘You’re on CCTV.’
Dixon watched Dr McConnell’s face redden. She was breathing deeply now.
‘You want to know who this man was, don’t you?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll tell you anyway,’ said Dixon. ‘He was the man who killed Elizabeth Perry.’
‘And you can prove that?’ asked Waters.
‘We can.’
Dr McConnell looked up. Tears were trickling down her cheeks.
‘You’ve no idea of the pressure I was under. They were threatening to shut us down. Animal insulin sales going up would’ve been a disaster.’
‘So you had Elizabeth Perry killed.’
‘She was the driving force behind their campaign. I had no choice.’
‘How much did you pay?’
‘Thirty thousand pounds.’
‘How did you get in touch with her killer?’
‘No comment.’
‘You’ll have to do better than that.’
‘No comment.’
‘All right, where did you meet him?’
‘In a lay-by on the A303 just beyond Stonehenge.’
‘When?’
‘End of September, perhaps the beginning of October. It was before the clocks went back.’
‘What car was he driving?’
‘It was black.’
‘Make? Model?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I hardly saw his face.’
‘What time was it?’
‘Nine. It was dark.’
‘And I suppose he didn’t say anything either?’
‘No.’
‘Why did you ask Muriel Dummett to destroy your mobile phone?’
‘Muriel is my employee. I instructed her to destroy the phone and she did as she was told. She knows nothing about this.’
‘Why did you want the phone destroyed?’
‘No comment.’
‘What was the number?’
‘No comment.’
Dixon sighed. He terminated the interview, closed the file and stood up. Then he took his insulin pen out of the top pocket of his jacket. Dr McConnell watched as he turned the pen until the Betalin logo was facing towards her.
‘What exactly is human about it?’ asked Dixon.
‘Well, nothing,’ she said, turning away and trying to wipe her tears away with the palms of her hands.
‘I thought not.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
So, that’s it then?’ asked Lewis. He was sitting on the corner of Jane’s workstation in the CID area. Dave and Mark were sitting behind Jane, but had turned to face him.
‘Not yet,’ replied Dixon. ‘I may need to interview her again. Let’s get an extension. Another twelve hours should be enough.’
‘What for?’
‘I want to check that crap about the A303 at Stonehenge. See if she really went.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t think that meeting took place at all. Someone else set it up.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘The other phone. You might buy a pay as you go SIM if you were setting up a murder, and then destroy it when the deal was done. But you wouldn’t buy a whole phone surely? And then keep it handy, on your desk?’
Lewis nodded.
‘She used that phone regularly,’ continued Dixon. ‘Why? And why was she so keen to get rid of it?’
‘What d’you want us to do?’ asked Jane.
‘Check the number plate cameras on the M3 and A303 as far as Stonehenge. Her last cash withdrawal came from the . . .’ Dixon looked at Louise and raised his eyebrows.
‘Nationwide on first October.’
‘And she said the meeting was before the clocks went back. So, that’s the twenty-sixth.’
‘She went to Sweden on the second and didn’t get back until the twelfth,’ said Jane.
‘That’s it then. From the twelfth to the twenty-sixth. Fourteen days. Check her diary in case we can eliminate any others too.’
Louise nodded.
‘And get her mobile phone positioning. The one we do know about. Let’s see if we can place it there. Just in case she hired a car.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘While you’re about it, get the Surr
ey lot to speak to her neighbours at Tulkeley Cottage and her office. We’re looking for any regular visitors.’
Dixon walked over to the large windows at the front of the police centre and looked out into the darkness. He watched the cars speeding around the roundabout at the entrance to Express Park and disappearing into the night. Commuters going home from work, probably. Lucky buggers. Yet another difficult conversation was coming, but Tom Perry had a right to know. What must it be like to have a nine to five job you leave behind when you go home? Watching CCTV at Tesco, for example?
He focussed on his reflection in the window and wondered whether it might have done him a favour, in the long run, if he’d been fired. Then he noticed DCI Lewis standing next to him.
‘Let me know when you’re ready to charge her and I can tell Charlesworth,’ said Lewis. ‘He’ll want to do a press conference.’
‘I’m more worried about telling Tom Perry his wife’s life was worth thirty grand.’
The smell of coffee almost overpowered Dixon when he walked into meeting room two just before 3 a.m. Louise had been on the go since 5 a.m. the previous morning but had ignored all orders to go home. Dave, Mark and Jane were tired but still going strong. It was testament to the power of adrenaline. And caffeine. A potent mix.
He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. A flippant remark about thinking of the overtime, or something like that, hardly seemed appropriate when he knew that none of them were.
Louise yawned first.
‘What’ve we got then?’ asked Dixon.
‘Nothing on the number plate recognition cameras,’ said Dave. ‘Doesn’t show up on any of them.’
‘We can’t check the traffic cameras,’ said Mark. ‘It’d take days.’
‘And the mobile phone?’
‘There’s a Vodafone base station at Amesbury, that’s the London side of Stonehenge, and another at Winterbourne Stoke, this side. That’s O2, that one,’ said Louise. ‘Doesn’t register on either.’
‘It’ll take days to cover every base station along the M3 and A303,’ said Jane.
‘If we assume that she carried the second mobile phone with her then the number should appear wherever her first phone does, surely?’ asked Dixon.
‘Yes,’ said Jane, hesitating. ‘Amongst thousands of others.’
‘So, if we get those records for her main phone, the second number will appear in the same listings. We did it before. Remember? And if we had the number it’d give us the calls.’
‘Yes, but last time we knew the number we were looking for,’ said Jane.
‘We checked with the operators, didn’t we?’
Jane rolled her eyes.
‘Yes. Her only phone on a contract is the one we’ve got.’
‘Well, we’ve got plenty of time,’ said Dixon. ‘I’ll speak to Lewis about authorising it.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Jane.
‘Nothing from the neighbours,’ said Mark. ‘Her cottage isn’t overlooked and she seems to keep herself to herself. Away most weekends and on business fairly regularly, but that’s about it.’
‘Where’s her solicitor?’ asked Dixon.
‘He’s at the Walnut Tree.’
‘Better get him out of bed then. It’s time for another word with Dr McConnell.’
‘When you were interviewed yesterday, Dr McConnell, you said that you’d met Mrs Perry’s killer in a lay-by on the A303 beyond Stonehenge.’
‘Yes.’
Dave, Mark and Jane were watching the interview unfold on a television screen in an adjacent room.
‘What time did you leave home to get there?’
‘About sevenish. I went straight from the office.’
‘So, it was a weekday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Which one?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘How long did it take you to get there?’
‘About an hour.’
‘Which way did you go?’
‘Down the M3 and along the A303.’
‘Where did you get on the M3?’
‘Lightwater.’
‘Where was this lay-by?’
‘On the other side of Winterbourne Stoke. On the right.’
‘The one with the snack van?’
Dr McConnell stared at Dixon, her head tilted to one side.
‘Yes.’
‘Was it open?
‘No.’
‘And the lay-by was empty?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you fill up with petrol on the way there or back?’
‘No.’
‘So, you got there an hour early. What did you do?’
‘I waited in my car.’
‘Your own car?’
‘Yes.’
‘In the lay-by?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did anyone see you?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it’s easily confirmed,’ said Dixon.
‘How?’ asked Dr McConnell, turning to Waters, sitting on her right.
‘From your office north of Bracknell south to the M3 then to Winterbourne Stoke in an hour, you’ll be on every speed camera along the way.’
‘Maybe I was wrong about the times. I said about an hour.’
‘You did. And you said you were in your own car.’
‘Yes.’
‘Only that doesn’t appear on any automatic number plate recognition camera either, Dr McConnell. Unless, of course, you’re lying and you went by magic carpet.’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘We’ve checked every ANPR camera between your return from Sweden on twelfth October until the clocks went back. Nothing,’ said Dixon, shaking his head, ‘unless you were wrong about that too.’
‘No.’
‘We’ve checked the Winterbourne Stoke mobile phone base station too. No sign of your number either. Odd that, if you’d sat there for an hour as you say.’
Dr McConnell swallowed hard. She turned to Waters.
‘Can you stop this?’
Waters leaned over and whispered in her ear.
‘The mystery man in the black car. Who was he?’ continued Dixon.
‘No comment.’
‘OK, let’s talk about your second mobile phone. The one Mrs Dummett incinerated. Personal calls, was it?’
‘No comment.’
‘We will find the number and then we’ll have all the calls made to or from that phone, so it’ll save everyone a lot of time if you just tell us now.’
Dixon watched Dr McConnell shifting in her seat. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. She was watching the tape machine, avoiding eye contact with him.
‘Who will we find on the other end?’
‘No comment,’ through gritted teeth.
‘You see, I don’t think you went to Winterbourne Stoke at all . . .’
‘I did.’
‘I think someone else did. And probably somewhere else entirely?’
‘No.’
‘You need time to think, I see that. No doubt Mr Waters can tell you how much time you’re gonna have.’
‘I think that’s enough, Inspector. My client has answered . . .’
‘Your client has lied,’ replied Dixon. Then he terminated the interview. He paused in the doorway to watch Dr McConnell sobbing quietly, her head bowed, before he slammed the door behind him.
Dixon leaned against the wall in the custody suite and closed his eyes. He was careful not to touch the alarm strip at waist height, which meant arching his back, but it was far too uncomfortable even for a moment’s rest. He opened his eyes just in time to see Dr McConnell being led to one of the counters. He watched the custody sergeant complete the custody sheet and listened as she was charged with the murder of Elizabeth Grace Perry on 24 December.
The decision to charge her would be reviewed by the Crown Prosecution Service before her first appearance in court, but Dixon knew he had got it right. Now all he had to do was find the person on the end of
that phone. And tell Tom Perry. He wasn’t sure which was going to be easier.
‘What time d’you call this?’ asked Tom Perry.
‘What time is it?’
‘Seven thirty. You look like you’ve been up all night.’
Dixon nodded.
‘You’d better come in,’ said Perry.
‘Are your parents in?’
‘They’re asleep. What’s going on?’
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’
‘Er, yes. Come through to the kitchen.’
Perry leaned back against the sink. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
Dixon slid a chair out from under the kitchen table. ‘May I?’
‘Of course.’
‘You may want to . . .’ said Dixon, gesturing to the chair at the head of the table.
‘No, I’m fine standing.’
‘At 4.30 a.m. this morning Dr Ann McConnell was charged with Lizzie’s murder. She’s been remanded in custody and will appear at Taunton Magistrates Court later this morning.’
‘Dr McConnell?’
Dixon nodded.
‘Betalin?’ asked Perry.
‘She has confessed to arranging the murder.’
‘How much did she pay?’
‘Tom, I . . .’
‘I need to know. How much did it cost her?’
‘Thirty thousand pounds.’
‘Thirty fucking . . .’ His voice tailed off. He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily through his nose. Dixon waited for the tears, but they didn’t come.
‘How did you know?’
‘Serial numbers on bank notes matching large cash withdrawals,’ replied Dixon.
Perry stepped forward and held out his hand to Dixon. He stood up and they shook hands.
‘Thank you,’ said Perry.
‘If you have no objection I think there’s going to be a press announcement later.’
‘Just give me till lunchtime to tell her parents,’ said Perry.
‘I can do it if you’d rather.’
‘No. I want to do it.’
‘Well, I’ll be heading . . .’
‘So, did she think I’d just forget the whole thing? After she killed my wife.’
‘She thought Lizzie would be the driving force behind your campaign,’ replied Dixon. ‘And if she was killed by a burglar you’d soon find other causes to champion.’
‘Easy mistake to make.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dixon arrived back at Express Park just after midday, after two hours’ sleep and a walk on the beach. It was the best he was going to get, and he felt better for the walk rather than the sleep. Jane was already back at the police centre, having left after Dr McConnell had been charged earlier that morning. Dave and Mark were back too, but there was no sign of Louise.