Rollover

by James Raven

  She had short brown hair and brown eyes. Attractive but not pretty. Tonight, as ever, she was dressed like a smart business-woman. Grey trouser suit, white blouse of some silky loose material, navy-blue raincoat. This was only the second time that she and Temple had attended the same crime scene, but he was looking forward to working with her because she was smart and savvy and nice to look at.

  ‘I gather you knew the victim, guv,’ she said.

  Temple nodded. He’d been given the name on the way over. The first thing he did was try to contact his boss, Superintendent Lloyd Priest. But Priest didn’t answer his phone – probably because he was tucked up in bed – so he’d left a voice message.

  ‘Vince Mayo,’ Temple said. ‘A local freelance reporter. He runs – or rather he ran – a news agency with his partner.’

  ‘Is there something I should know about him, guv?’ Angel said. ‘Only I just overheard one of the uniforms describe him as a little shit who got what he deserved at last.’

  Temple was concentrating on Mayo’s face. The bulbous eyes, exposed teeth, streaks of blood across his forehead.

  He looked up and said, ‘I’ll tell you in a bit. What have you gleaned?’

  Angel gave him a puzzled look before consulting her notes.

  ‘Mr Mayo has lived here alone for the past five years according to his only neighbour. I’ve had a quick look round and there’s no sign of a break-in and all his belongings appear to be in order. The neighbour did see a car leave here earlier that might have belonged to the killer. But don’t get excited. He didn’t manage to get the registration or even the make.’

  ‘Any sign of a weapon?’

  ‘Not as yet.’

  Temple peered more closely at the body. The pathologist, Frank Matherson, was already kneeling on the floor beside it.

  ‘What have we got, Frank?’ Temple asked.

  Matheson threw a glance over his shoulder. He had short, pewter-grey hair and grey eyes, with deep wrinkles radiating out from them.

  ‘Two blows to the head,’ he said. ‘Front and back. No question it was deliberate. Victim is somewhere in his late thirties, I’d say.’

  ‘Is it too soon to give me a time of death?’

  ‘Well, rigor has only just started to set in so this didn’t happen very long ago. Few hours at most. Say between eight and ten. We’re lucky the body was discovered so soon.’

  ‘And the weapon?’

  Matherson thought about it. ‘A heavy blunt instrument of some kind. Those wounds are deep but also pretty smooth. The impact areas are wide, too.’

  ‘What about defensive wounds?’

  ‘There don’t seem to be any. Doesn’t look to me like this bloke struggled. Maybe he was taken by surprise.’

  There were smudged footprints in the pool of blood that had spread across the lino. Temple drew Angel’s attention to them.

  ‘The neighbour who found the body swears he didn’t get close enough to step in the blood,’ she said.

  ‘Any of our lot responsible?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So it’s fair to assume that the killer made a mess.’

  ‘It looks that way. As you saw coming in there’s a blood trail on the hallway carpet and up the stairs. There are also traces out on the driveway. It could have been an attempted robbery. Mayo surprised the thieves and they clobbered him. Then they panicked and ran without taking anything. Maybe related to that spate of burglaries in and around Lyndhurst a month ago. If you recall, the thieves targeted houses in remote locations.’

  ‘That’s something we need to give thought to,’ Temple said.

  He looked around the kitchen, spotted a bottle of champagne on the worktop, uncorked.

  ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘I’m not sure, ‘Angel said. ‘There are no glasses out to go with it. I checked the other rooms and the dishwasher. You can also see where some of it spilled on to the floor and over the briefcase. Mayo’s briefcase by the looks of it.’

  Temple stepped carefully up to the worktop and examined at close quarters the champagne bottle.

  ‘I wonder what the occasion was,’ he said.

  ‘Well, whatever it was it was short-lived,’ Angel said.

  ‘Any prints?’

  ‘The bottle’s been wiped clean apparently.’

  Something else on the worktop caught Temple’s eye. A large granite mortar bowl that would have been used with a pestle for grinding and pounding herbs. He had one just like it at home, only smaller.

  He looked around the kitchen for the heavy, bat-shaped pestle, but didn’t see it.

  ‘There’s no pestle,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Matherson got up to have a look.

  ‘The pestle is missing,’ Temple said. ‘You don’t often see a mortar without a pestle.’

  Matherson nodded. ‘You’re right about that.’

  ‘Which raises the possibility that the pestle might have been used as the murder weapon.’

  Matherson chewed at the corner of his lower lip. ‘It’s a sound theory. In fact I worked on a case once where a guy used a heavy pestle to smash open his wife’s skull. And that there is a hellishly big mortar, so the pestle that goes with it must be sizeable.’

  ‘We’d better look for it then,’ Temple said and Angel immediately instructed one of the officers in the hallway to spread the word.

  Temple moved into the living room. He noted that the cottage was furnished in a style that was in keeping with its age: an old overstuffed sofa, a studded leather armchair, an antique table, bookshelf. Temple flicked through the titles. Reference books, dictionaries, a Thesaurus, a large collection of paperback novels, some hardback fiction by the likes of Michael Collins and James Lee Burke.

  Upstairs there were two bedrooms, both with double beds. All the usual stuff such as wardrobes and drawers and pleasant pictures on the walls. Most of the pictures were paintings or photographs of the New Forest. Landscapes. Wildlife. Village scenes. But there was one in Mayo’s office that caught Temple’s eye. It showed Mayo with two other adults and a little girl. They were standing in front of a barbecue with the cottage in the background.

  Temple pointed to the other man in the picture. ‘That’s Mayo’s business partner,’ he said. ‘Danny Cain. I reckon that must be Cain’s wife and daughter.’

  Temple had met Cain, but not the wife. In fact he knew very little about either Cain or Mayo even though, like almost everyone in CID, he harboured a grudge against them. It was something he would have to keep in check. And so would everyone else who’d be working on this case.

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Angel said. ‘I checked Mayo’s landline when I got here and the last call he made was at eight forty-five this evening. It was to a number registered to a Danny Cain.’

  Temple arched his brow. ‘Is that so?’

  They went back downstairs, checked the utility room, then the garden. The air outside had a crisp bite to it. The moon’s insipid glow washed over the tear-shaped lawn. There was a wall at the back, and some trelliswork entwined with honeysuckle and some kind of fern. The wall kept the creeping forest at bay.

  Back inside, Temple said, ‘So who found the body?’

  ‘Guy who lives next door,’ Angel said. ‘He’s outside. I told him you’d want a word.’

  Temple took off his forensic suit, asked Angel to look around some more and went outside.

  Bill Nadelson was about sixty-five with grey hair and a weathered face. He had a sharp chin and prominent, aquiline nose. He was breathing hoarsely though his mouth and wearing a heavy dark coat.

  Temple introduced himself.

  ‘Are you feeling all right, Mr Nadelson? You look awfully pale. Perhaps you should see a doctor.’

  Nadelson shook his head. ‘There’s no need for that. It was just a shock to find Vince like that. I think I just need a strong cup of tea.’

  ‘Why don’t we chat in your house then?’ Temple said. ‘I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there and we can b
oth have a cuppa.’

  Nadelson lived in a cottage not unlike Mayo’s. But inside it was much smaller, with a low beamed ceiling and too much bulky furniture. Temple followed him into the kitchen where Nadelson started talking as he put the kettle on.

  ‘Vince was a great neighbour,’ he said. ‘We got on well. My wife died two years ago and he was very supportive.’

  ‘So what happened tonight? How did you come to find the body?’

  Nadelson took off his coat and sat at the kitchen table, opposite the detective. Temple noted that he was lean and fit looking. Heavy chest. Toned skin.

  ‘I’d been out all day at my son’s house in Cadnam,’ he said. ‘I got back slightly before ten. I’d just unlocked the front door and was stepping into the hall when suddenly a car screeched out of Vince’s driveway and tore along the lane with a roar that shocked me.’

  ‘Did you recognize the vehicle?’

  ‘No, it was too dark. But I think it was black or dark blue. And it was a nice-looking car. Shiny too. Maybe an Audi or a BMW.’

  ‘So what then?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, it was pretty unusual and curiosity got the better of me. I stepped into the lane and noticed that Vince’s car was in the driveway and the lights were on in the cottage. I decided to pop over and check that everything was all right.’

  The kettle boiled and Temple gestured for Nadelson to stay put. He got up to pour the teas. Nadelson had put out two chunky earthenware mugs with tea bags and milk in them.

  ‘When I got to the cottage I rang the bell but there was no answer,’ Nadelson said. ‘So I called for Vince but he didn’t respond. I got a little worried so I tried the front door and discovered it wasn’t actually shut properly. I called out and went in. The kitchen is to the left of the hall and the light was on. That’s when I saw him.’

  Temple put both mugs on the table and sat back down.

  ‘So what did you do?’ he asked.

  Nadelson cupped his hands around his mug, lifted it to his lips and took a sip of tea. ‘I went in to see if he was alive, but it was obvious that he wasn’t. I was careful not to tread in the blood. I saw his wounds and realized that he hadn’t died of natural causes. I knew better than to touch anything so I immediately ran home and phoned nine nine nine.’

  ‘Did you go upstairs?’

  ‘No I didn’t. I just wanted to get out of there. It was horrible.’

  ‘Did you touch anything in the kitchen?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  Temple took him through it again and made notes. Then he said, ‘So what can you tell me about Mr Mayo?’

  Nadelson described Vince Mayo as a quiet, respectful man whose only vice seemed to be gambling. He enjoyed a flutter on the horses and was a frequent visitor to the casinos in town.

  ‘He’s had several girlfriends,’ Nadelson said. ‘Currently there’s a pretty young woman named Jennifer. She sometimes stayed overnight in the cottage. A lovely girl. Always smiling.’

  ‘Was she here today?’

  ‘She was this morning so she must have stayed over on Friday night.’

  ‘How do you know? Did you talk to her?’

  ‘No, but I saw her briefly when I dropped in on Vince this morning. She was coming down the stairs and she was still in her dressing-gown. She said hello but I was in a hurry so I didn’t go in.’

  ‘Was that the last time you saw Mr Mayo alive?’

  ‘I’m afraid it was.’

  ‘So why’d you go over to his place?’

  ‘I’d been to the shop in town and bought Vince’s lottery tickets for him.’

  ‘Is that something you often did?’

  He nodded. ‘Every Saturday morning. It became a routine after I offered to do it once. He always had ten lucky dips so it didn’t take me long to get an extra ticket for him in addition to my own. He always paid me of course.’

  Temple ploughed on with more questions. Did Mayo have many visitors? Had the cottage ever been broken into? Had he spotted any strangers hanging around recently? Did Mayo have any enemies that he knew of? Who were his friends?

  Nadelson said he didn’t know if Mayo had any enemies, but his closest friend was another journalist named Danny Cain, who was also his business partner in the news agency.

  ‘How often does Cain come here?’ Temple asked.

  ‘Very occasionally. I’ve met him a couple of times. He has a charming wife and a delightful daughter. I last saw them at Vince’s barbecue in the summer.’

  ‘Any problems between Mr Mayo and Mr Cain?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Inspector. I never talked to Vince about his business life.’

  Finally, Temple said, ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to take up some more of your time, Mr Nadelson. We need to take a formal statement.’

  ‘That’s not a problem.’

  ‘We also need your fingerprints and I’ll have a forensic officer check your clothes and shoes.’

  Nadelson’s face registered alarm. His hands jerked and some of the tea spilled over the rim of the mug on to the table.

  ‘It’s just routine,’ Temple assured him. ‘For elimination purposes.’

  Nadelson put his mug down. His eyes narrowed and his lips pressed tight together.

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, Mr Nadelson?’ Temple asked, puzzled by the man’s reaction. ‘Something that might be relevant?’

  Nadelson made an effort to compose himself. He straightened his back and sucked nervously on the inside of his bottom lip.

  After a beat, he said, ‘No, I’m finding it all a bit overwhelming, that’s all. This is a ghastly experience.’

  Temple regarded him for a few seconds and put his reaction down to shock.

  ‘Are you sure that you don’t want me to arrange for a doctor to drop by?’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure, Inspector. I’ll be OK. Really.’

  Temple finished his tea, thanked Nadelson and walked back along the lane to Mayo’s place. There were no other houses in sight. They were in the heart of the New Forest and therefore it was unlikely that anyone else had seen anything tonight.

  He stared up at the cottage, wondering at its history. What dramas had been played out within its thick uneven walls over the years? Was this the first murder? The cottage was the type you see in the tourist brochures aimed at attracting people to the forest. Squat, quaint, picturesque. A cosy retreat from the real world, buried as it was in a corner of this ancient woodland. Not a place where blood should be spilled, Temple thought.

  So what had happened here tonight? Who had shattered the tranquillity and destroyed the sense of peace?

  He sucked the cold air into his throat and gave a shudder. It was at times like this that he wished he hadn’t given up smoking. But six months ago he’d finally heeded the advice of his doctor, who was concerned about the raspy voice he’d developed over the years and the bouts of coughing that were becoming more frequent and troublesome.

  Angel emerged from the cottage and came striding over, her knee-length raincoat billowing like a cape.

  ‘We’ve got something,’ she said. ‘A shoeprint in the blood on the kitchen floor. Quite distinctive. Almost certainly male and size nine.’

  ‘A careless killer,’ Temple said. ‘My favourite kind.’

  ‘What about Mr Nadelson?’ she asked. ‘Is he a suspect?’

  ‘Everyone is at this stage, although I can’t in all honesty imagine him killing anyone. Still, he did get flustered when I said we’d need to take his prints. So we should check him out. Get someone to have a longer chat with him and get a statement.’

  ‘Will do,’ she said. Then, ‘So come on, guv. It’s time you filled me in on Vince Mayo. Why did the lads have a problem with him?’

  ‘Vince Mayo was not popular among your colleagues,’ Temple said. ‘The same goes for his partner, Cain. And that fact alone is going to ensure that this case will attract a lot of unwanted media attention.’

  Angel took out a cigarette and lit up, muc
h to Temple’s annoyance. Staying off the weed was a struggle at the best of times, but it was sheer torture if smoke was being blown in your face.

  ‘Care to explain, guv?’ she said, sensing that he was drifting into his thoughts.

  He took a step back and turned away from her. He looked up at the cottage which was teeming with scene of crime officers. A flashlight exploded. A police radio crackled. Somehow it didn’t seem right that this should happen out here in the forest. This was a place that ought to have been immune from the horrors of the outside world.

  ‘Those two set up a news agency a couple of years ago,’ he said. ‘Before that they worked on the local evening paper, although Cain did spend a few years away from here in London. Anyway, Mayo especially had lots of contacts in the area. He came up with quite a few exclusive stories, a couple of which shed a bad light on the constabulary.

  ‘One of those stories broke about a year ago. It involved a detective inspector named George Banks. A good friend of mine. Worked out of Southampton CID for fifteen years.’

  ‘The name rings a bell,’ Angel said. ‘I’ve heard the lads mention him.’

  Temple took a deep breath through his nose, enjoying the second-hand smoke that was caressing the back of his throat.

  ‘Mayo and Cain got a tip-off that George had gone bad. They were told that he was recycling seized drugs and selling them to his brother-in-law, who is a bit of a lowlife.’

  ‘Was it true?’

  Temple nodded. ‘George has a son named Warren. He was diagnosed with a rare form of liver cancer. New drugs that would have helped him were not available on the NHS. So George had to raise the money himself. He found it impossible even though he sold almost everything he owned. As a last resort he helped himself to some of the drugs we confiscated. Like a fool he didn’t think anyone would notice.

  ‘Anyway, someone got wind of it and tipped off Mayo and Cain. They went to work on the story. They called George for a quote and he pleaded with them not to sell it. He called me and I went to see them in the hope of talking them out of it. I explained the situation. George only did it once and the amount of drugs was relatively small. I said I would see to it that George was dealt with. But because of the extenuating circumstances I was hoping to keep it low key and avoid a prosecution. I appealed to Cain and Mayo to drop the story.’