Dead Weight

by Frank Smith

  ‘What about her friend, Maria Navarro?’ Tregalles suggested. ‘She works in Casualty. It won’t be pleasant for anyone, but at least she’s a nurse, so she should be used to that sort of thing.’

  Paget hesitated. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘but make sure she understands what she will be looking at. If she agrees, notify the family liaison officer to arrange a time. Now, time of death. Doctor Starkie allowed himself a fairly wide margin due to the conditions under which the body was found, so he puts it at five to eight weeks ago. But we know that Justine was alive just over six weeks ago, so it’s reasonable to assume that she died very close to the time she disappeared.’ He paused. ‘And she was approximately three months pregnant at the time.’

  A quiet murmur rippled through the room. ‘Do we have any idea how long she’s been in the water, sir?’ someone asked. ‘Aren’t we looking at the possibility that the body was thrown out of the boot of the car when it went into the river last week?’

  ‘Not any more,’ Paget replied. ‘Doctor Starkie observed the beginning of plant growth on the duct tape, which suggests that the body has been in the water for at least two or three weeks and possibly more. Forensic may be able to tell us more about that, but we can drop that line of enquiry … at least as far as the body is concerned. The question still remains as to why Doctor Bryant lied about where her car was when it was stolen.’

  ‘What about Justine’s clothes?’ Tregalles asked. ‘Any clue there?’

  Paget shook his head. ‘The body was completely naked.’

  Tregalles blew out his cheeks. ‘Looks like somebody went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make sure she wasn’t found,’ he said soberly. ‘Anything on what she was wrapped in, or the weights and the wire?’

  ‘Not so far,’ said Paget, ‘but Forensic will be taking a good look at them, and finding out where they came from will be a priority. However, that’s all I have to say for the moment. Sergeant Ormside, DS Tregalles, DS Forsythe and I will be doing a full review of the original missing person file, together with this latest information, first thing tomorrow morning, and I suggest that those of you who were involved in that investigation, even if it was only marginally, review your notes as well. I think that’s all for now … Oh, DC Kajura, a moment, please,’ he said as everyone began to leave.

  ‘Yes, sir?” said Sophie apprehensively, wondering what she had done to be singled out.

  ‘I seem to recall that you did some good work on the CCTV tapes and on background checks in the Delgado case,’ he said, ‘so I would like you to join us at the review tomorrow morning. All right?’

  Sophie let her breath go. ‘Absolutely, sir! And thank you, sir.’

  ‘Good. See you in the morning, then.’

  Sophie could barely stop herself from skipping as she walked away.

  SEVENTEEN

  Tuesday, 15 May

  Sergeant Len Ormside was a tall, lean string-bean of a man with deeply chiselled features, prominent nose and a ruddy complexion. His once fine head of sandy hair was thinner now and mostly grey, but his deep-set eyes were just as bright and hawkish as ever.

  Running an incident room had once been part of his regular job, and he was good at it. With twenty-odd years behind him, there were few who could match his phenomenal memory for facts, figures, names and dates, and his general knowledge of the area.

  But seven years ago, his talents had been noted, and he’d been asked to set up a newly formed group called Forward Planning, based in head office in New Street. Ormside had been torn: he liked his job, but perhaps it was time to move on. The then Superintendent Alcott was reluctant to let him go, but he didn’t want to stand in Ormside’s way, so he worked out a deal with head office. In the event of a serious crime where a full-scale incident room had to be set up, subject to the demands of his own job, Ormside would be seconded temporarily to CID to run it.

  The system had worked well, mainly because Ormside himself was left to decide whether he could spare the time away from his regular job, and so far he’d always found a way.

  Now he cast an eye over the room to see if there was anything he’d missed. He’d gone to work immediately following the briefing yesterday, so now what he needed most of all was information: every scrap of information from everyone who had been involved in the Delgado disappearance. The whole purpose of an incident room was the gathering of information, examination of the evidence and orderly direction of an appropriate response. Everything would be checked and double-checked. Statements, times, locations, all would be looked at again. Basic background checks had been done when Justine Delgado was first reported missing, but now they would need to go deeper. And HOLMES 2, the national police investigative management system, would be searched for crimes with the same or similar characteristics.

  Len Ormside had been on his feet since six a.m. and his corns were beginning to hurt. He’d be glad to sit down, but there was still one very important job to do before Paget and the others arrived. He walked over to an old steel cabinet in the far corner of the room and pulled out a chipped and battered coffee pot and a jar of coffee left over from the last time he was there. And the extension cord, a bit ragged and worn, but no bare wires were visible, so it would be safe enough as long as no one spilled water or coffee on the floor. He taped the cord to the floor and plugged it in, and minutes later, when he heard the gratifying rumble from the pot beside his desk, he settled into his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. It was like coming home.

  Tregalles slumped back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He and the others had spent the morning going over everything, from the moment Justine Delgado had been reported missing until the file had been handed off to Missing Persons. Now it was back in their hands, but this time as a major crime.

  ‘It’s no good,’ Paget declared as he, too, sat back in his seat. ‘We have to look at this another way.’

  There was a cautious stirring of interest from the others, but no one spoke.

  Paget looked across the room to the whiteboards where the picture of Justine Delgado was once again displayed. Even at that distance, her dark, serious eyes seemed to be looking directly back at him. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you,’ he said, ‘but in spite of everything we have done to prove that Justine Delgado left Simla House on Easter Sunday, there isn’t a shred of evidence to support it. I don’t think she ever left.’

  There was a moment of silence, then, ‘You’re saying Mrs Lorrimer and her son lied about Justine leaving to go to mass?’ Tregalles said tentatively.

  ‘No, I’m not saying that,’ said Paget, ‘although I’m not ruling it out, either. Mrs Lorrimer certainly sounded credible when she came in to report Justine missing. In fact, she appeared to be very concerned and very worried, so I’m trying to keep an open mind. I think it’s just possible that Justine did leave the house, but made her way back inside without being seen. Once she was through the gate, all she had to do was turn to the right and use the cover of the tall hedge to make her way along to where the hedge meets the south wing of the house. If you look at the pictures, you can see there’s a gap in the hedge next to the wooden stairs leading to the first floor. Once through the gap, Justine could be up those steps and into the house in a matter of seconds without being seen.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’ Ormside asked. ‘Seems like a lot of trouble to go to when she could have simply stayed in her room in the first place.’

  ‘Possibly because it would have looked suspicious, or at least raised questions, if she didn’t go to mass, especially on Easter Sunday,’ said Paget. ‘As to why she would go to all that trouble, I have no idea.’

  ‘Could be because she wanted to have it out with Sebastian,’ Tregalles suggested. ‘Justine told Maria that she couldn’t stand Sebastian, but maybe that was a lie and she was actually having it off with him. She knew that Mr and Mrs Lorrimer would be going off to church around nine thirty, and Michael would be over at Mrs Tillman’s, so she and Sebastian would have the house to themselves.
Maybe that’s when she told him she was pregnant; he didn’t want any part of that, she threatened to bring it out in the open, he panicked, they fought or he hit her, and she wound up dead. Case closed.’

  Ormside grunted. ‘Assuming she did go back into the house,’ he said, ‘but we don’t know that, do we? According to the autopsy report, there would have been a fair amount of blood wherever she was killed, so did you see any blood in the room when you were there, Tregalles?’

  ‘No, but we weren’t looking at it as a crime scene back then,’ Tregalles said defensively. ‘It was a missing person case. Besides—’

  ‘If it’s any help, sir,’ Sophie Kajura said tentatively, ‘we have Sebastian Mills leaving in his car at a few minutes to nine that morning, and Mrs Lorrimer was still in the house during that time.’

  ‘Although she was out of the house briefly when she took Michael over to Tilly’s around eight thirty,’ Molly pointed out. ‘But if Justine was killed by Sebastian, how did he get the body out of the house in broad daylight, assuming, of course, that he took her out in his car that morning?’

  ‘Maybe he left her there in her room until the following night,’ Tregalles suggested.

  ‘We’re talking theories,’ Paget broke in quickly, ‘and an alternative to the one I just mentioned is that Justine never did leave the house in the first place, and Mrs Lorrimer and her son lied. So let’s go back to the very beginning. When do we know that Justine was last seen alive? Never mind what we’ve been told; when was the last time Justine was seen alive?’

  Tregalles thought for a moment. ‘That would have to be at lunch on Easter Saturday,’ he said. ‘Mr and Mrs Lorrimer were there, and so was Terry Baxter. He confirmed that they all had lunch together when Molly spoke to him on the phone, and Lorrimer was going on to Molly and me about Terry chatting up Justine during lunch.’

  ‘I don’t know when Justine was last seen,’ said Molly, ‘but Justine rang Tilly shortly before eight o’clock on Saturday evening to remind her to watch Midsomer Murders on television. There should be a record of the call, so I’ll check on that.’

  Ormside, who had been studying pictures of Simla House taken from the car park, was shaking his head. ‘I suppose it’s possible that she returned to the house that way,’ he said, ‘but it’s a bit devious, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Especially when virtually everyone we’ve talked to about this girl praises her for her dedication to her work, her love for the boy, and how seriously she takes her religion, and, by implication, her honesty,’ said Molly.

  ‘That being said, she did get pregnant,’ Tregalles pointed out. ‘And she was up to something when she told Mrs Lorrimer that she was going to be spending the day with her friend, Maria.’

  ‘If that is what she told Mrs Lorrimer,’ Ormside growled.

  Paget looked at him. ‘If it’s not,’ he said slowly, ‘it suggests that Mrs Lorrimer and her son are barefaced liars or worse. And, if that’s the case, I completely misjudged Mrs Lorrimer when she reported Justine missing.’ He took a deep breath and blew it out again. ‘But, it would explain a number of things,’ he conceded, ‘so let’s put it to the test.’

  Grace had just arrived home and was getting out of her car when Paget pulled into the driveway behind her, and they entered the house together. ‘Charlie told me we’re going to be doing a search of Simla House tomorrow,’ said Grace as they were hanging up their coats in the hall. They’d agreed a long time ago that they would leave work behind once they got home, but she was dying of curiosity. Grace Lovett was a crime scene investigator, a member of what was still referred to as SOCO locally, rather than CSI, which seemed to have taken hold in other areas, and Charlie Dobbs was her boss. ‘Do we actually have a crime scene, or are we trying to establish one?’

  ‘To be honest, I’m not sure myself,’ he told her after they’d given each other a hug and a kiss.

  Grace eyed him curiously, but remained silent as she led the way into the living room, where she kicked off her shoes and sat down. ‘Considering how far away from the house the body was found, what makes you think she might have been killed there?’ she prompted.

  Paget settled into his favourite chair and loosened his tie. ‘We’re starting there,’ he said, ‘simply because, despite all our efforts to prove otherwise, there isn’t a scrap of evidence to show that Justine ever left the house or grounds. In fact, for all we know, she could have been killed at any time after eight o’clock on the Saturday evening.’

  Grace eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Are you saying you believe that Mrs Lorrimer lied about the girl going off to church that morning?’

  ‘If she did, she made a damned good job of it, and I bought it,’ Paget said dourly. ‘On the other hand, she and her son could be telling the truth as they know it.’

  Grace dismissed that with a shake of her head. ‘But you don’t believe that, do you?’ she said. ‘Which is why we’re going in there first thing tomorrow morning. Right? But how did you get Brock to agree, considering how sensitive he is when it comes to dealing with people like the Lorrimers?’

  Paget eyed Grace for a long moment before he replied. ‘I didn’t,’ he said quietly. ‘It was getting late in the day, and he was in a meeting, so I thought it best to wait till morning to let him know.’

  Grace’s eyes widened in astonishment. ‘But surely Pierce wouldn’t …? Oh, God, you didn’t tell her either, did you? What on earth were you thinking, Neil?’

  He shrugged. ‘I knew it wouldn’t fly with either of them,’ he said, ‘but I have to get in there to satisfy myself that we haven’t overlooked the possibility that Justine was killed in the house, and Mrs Lorrimer has been lying to me from the very beginning.’

  Grace looked up at the ceiling and puffed out her cheeks. ‘You know what will happen if we don’t find anything, don’t you?’ she said quietly. ‘Brock will come down on you like a ton of bricks, and Pierce will be caught in the crossfire. Why take the risk? Is it because you think that you were taken in by Mrs Lorrimer … assuming, of course, that you were taken in, and Justine was actually killed in the house?’

  ‘It’s partly that, I suppose,’ he admitted, ‘but I think you’d understand if you had seen that poor woman’s body, as I did, on the slab. I want to see someone held responsible for what they did, and if that means having to put up with some flack from the likes of Morgan Brock, then so be it.’

  Paget pushed himself up out of the chair. ‘And I think that’s enough shop talk for one evening,’ he said firmly. ‘Would you like a drink? I know I could use one.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Wednesday, 16 May

  The shock in Stephen Lorrimer’s eyes was not unexpected, but the intensity of it and the way the colour drained from his face took Paget by surprise. Standing behind his desk, Lorrimer’s legs began to shake, and he put a hand down on the desk to steady himself. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths while shaking his head slowly from side to side. ‘No! That can’t be right,’ he muttered between breaths. His voice rose. ‘You’ve made a mistake. In the river? No.’ His mouth suddenly went dry; the muscles in his throat constricted, and he was having to force the words out. ‘If the body has been in the water …’ Lorrimer turned away to grab a handful of tissues from a box on his desk, and blew his nose.

  Lorrimer had made no secret about his admiration for Justine Delgado, and for what she had done for his son – indeed, for his family – but Paget found himself wondering again if there had been more to their relationship. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but the body has been identified by dental records, and by Justine’s friend, Maria Navarro. If you wish to identify the body yourself …?’

  ‘No, no, that won’t be necessary,’ Lorrimer said huskily. He mopped his face and deposited the tissues in the wastepaper basket beside his desk. ‘Do you know … how she died?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to give you any details,’ Paget told him, ‘but we now believe that, instead of continuing on to church on Easter mornin
g, Justine Delgado may have re-entered the house by way of the outside stairs, and I have a warrant to search the house and grounds.’ He took the warrant from his pocket and handed it to Lorrimer.

  Lorrimer had the papers in his hands before the words registered in his brain. Frowning, he looked at the first page, then the second, and, suddenly, his manner changed. ‘This is absurd,’ he said. ‘Based on some theory that Justine came back into the house after leaving here? Are you seriously suggesting that something could have happened to her here? Are you telling me that we are suspects?’

  ‘No one is talking about suspects at this point,’ said Paget firmly, ‘but the house will be searched and, hopefully, eliminated. As you can see, the search warrant restricts us to the living quarters of the house and outbuildings, so nothing on the constituency office side will be disturbed or compromised.’ He turned towards the door, then paused; when he spoke again, it was in a more moderate tone. ‘I’m assuming that you are just as keen to find out what happened to Justine as we are,’ he said, ‘so it really would make things much easier for all concerned if I could have the keys to any locked rooms, cupboards or drawers.’

  Lorrimer looked startled. ‘You mean now?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Lorrimer,’ said Paget. ‘I mean now.’

  ‘Why the hell did you let them in?’ Julia hissed. ‘And then to just hand them the keys …?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘What were you thinking, for God’s sake? And where did they get the idea that Justine came back into the house after she left for church? That’s nonsense.’

  Lorrimer shrugged helplessly. ‘No idea,’ he said, ‘but what I do know is that you don’t get a magistrate to sign a search warrant without some sort of evidence.’

  ‘Which magistrate?’ Julia asked sharply.

  ‘John Blair. He—’

  ‘So call the man. Tell him to cancel the damned thing. He’s a friend, for God’s sake! He’s on one of our committees. Tell him it’s harassment, and we’re not going to stand for it.’