The Vanishing Child: A gripping crime thriller with a climax you won't see coming (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 9)

by ML Rose

  Arla didn’t have any reason to think Gillespie was lying. She knew nothing about her, but she doubted Gillespie had anything to gain by hiding the truth. And it explained John Churchill’s recent behaviour in Dr Vaughan’s clinic.

  "Did John know about it?" Harry asked.

  Matron Gillespie shrugged. "I don't know. You have to ask him."

  CHAPTER 24

  The journey from Balham to the morgue in Clapham's hospital was slow and ponderous. The traffic tangled streets seemed as constricted as the thoughts looping through Arla's mind. The air-conditioner blasted cool air, and her eyes stared out the window.

  The summer dresses were out, and bare bodies turning golden and brown on the green grass. Summers’s rush was in the air, a quickness that permeated every living object. But Arla's mind was preoccupied with thoughts about the dead. Stephen Vaughan in particular.

  Harry cleared his throat, and she glanced at him. He had his elbow on the windowsill, head resting on his palm. They held each other's eyes for a few seconds, both aware of the questions forming in their minds.

  "So, Vaughan was a ladies’ man. I believe the Matron."

  "Dr Banerjee's friend has hinted at that as well. I think we need to speak to him." Arla said.

  "We never asked his ex-wife the reason for the divorce. I'm sure she knew he was playing around."

  Harry said, "She became defensive when we asked about when she last saw him."

  Arla rubbed her bottom lip with her forefinger. "That's right, but she didn't see him the night of the murder. However, she does match the description of the woman who came to Dr Vaughan's house last night."

  Harry reached out and tapped the touchtone phone on the dashboard. Arla looked at him questioningly. "Who are you calling?"

  "The door-to-door enquiry must be done by now. I wonder if they found anything."

  "Someone's had their Weetabix this morning. Good thinking," Arla raised her eyebrows, hiding her smile.

  Harry tapped his skull. "This thing works very well. Like a well-oiled machine." He winked at Arla. "Like the machine in my pants. You know how well that works, right?"

  Arla squeezed her eyes shut and averted her face. The man was incorrigible. The phone rang, then the call went through to Rob. Harry asked him, and he transferred the call to Rosslyn.

  "Hi guv," Ross's voice came through line.

  “Hi, it’s me,” Harry said. “Anything of interest from the door-to-door search?”

  There was a pause, and they could hear Ross speaking to the others in hushed tones. Then she came back on the line.

  "As a matter of fact, there is. Two more neighbours saw a black convertible Mercedes arriving in front of Dr Vaughan's house last night. Both witnesses recalled a woman coming out, and one of them said she was blonde. It was dark, but they could see her in the street light."

  Arla and Harry looked at each other, the same excitement flashing in their eyes.

  Arla said, "How old were the witnesses?"

  "A mother aged 34 was putting her children to bed, and a 64-year-old man who lives alone. They live opposite to the victims, and they had a good view of the front door. Both of them were looking out the second-floor windows."

  "Have you asked traffic about the convertible Mercedes?"

  "Yes, they're looking. Neither of the witnesses noted the car's registration."

  "Great work, Rosslyn," Arla said. "Anything else?"

  "No, but Rob wants to speak to you."

  A couple of beeps later they heard Rob's voice. "I heard back from Sandra Pitt’s secretary. She will see you at her home later this afternoon."

  Arla asked him to text her the address. The postcode began with SW1, two letters and a number that signified wealth and opulence. Sloane Square, no less.

  "What time?" Arla asked.

  "I said I'd check with you. But they said 4 PM."

  Arla told him to confirm that she would attend, and hung up. She held the phone up for Harry to read the postcode.

  "An address fit for a baroness," Harry drawled.

  The lights changed ahead, and with a giant, collective gurgle of their engines, the cars started moving.

  Harry said, "Now we have three witnesses who saw the blonde woman. Time to bring Natalie Chapman in?"

  Arla rested her head against the window frame. She spoke softly, like she was thinking aloud.

  "Or, do we give her more rope to hang herself with? Why not put her under surveillance?"

  "Do you think she might have an accomplice?"

  Arla nodded. The thought was germinating in her brain, and slowly bearing fruit. "Natalie wouldn't start a physical fight with the victim. Someone else did. Maybe the man in the parking lot. From his CCTV images, he would be the right size to take Dr Vaughan on."

  Harry tapped a long, thick finger on the steering wheel. "That's a good point. Assuming she is the blonde woman in question, they could be working together."

  "Like you said, it's an assumption. But she's the only blonde woman we have in the picture for now. Given Dr Vaughan’s reputation, there might be other women, hungry for revenge."

  Harry parked inside the hospital's staff car park, and they went inside, then down the elevator, into the morgue basement. The hospital had a medical school, and the pathology department was also located here.

  They walked straight past the few people that went in and out of the Department doors, and into the long, silent and white corridor of the morgue. The smell of disinfectant hit Arla's nostrils, and her nose crinkled. The lack of any sound here was strange, as if the proximity to the dead absorbed all human noise.

  She could only hear their footsteps, and the loud echo was unnerving. She was glad when they reached the double doors, and she leaned a fingertip on the buzzer till it was answered. Lorna Chan, Dr Banerjee's Chinese assistant, opened the doors for them. She handed them gowns to put on, and they got changed.

  CHAPTER 25

  Dr Banerjee was seated at one of the highchairs and staring at the screen of a laptop. He was wearing his gown and mask. He looked up as Arla approached.

  He smiled at her and Harry, and the three of them followed Lorna, who walked to a gurney and took the plastic cover off. Mr Vaughan's corpse had the pale yellow, waxy tinge produced after advanced rigor mortis. His chest and abdominal cavity had been opened up, and course sutures now covered them. Dr Banerjee went to the head of the corpse, where he usually liked to start.

  “No signs of haemorrhage in the eyes. I did remove the skull top and have a look." His fingers showed the Frankenstein -like sutures with which he had replaced the skull top. "There's a few areas of infarction, or lack of blood supply, in the posterior circulation of the brain. That's the collection of arteries at the base of the brain, which provides the brain its blood supply."

  Arla said, "But you said the brain doesn't have any blood vessels?"

  Dr Banerjee smiled benevolently. "Well remembered. Yes, there are no blood vessels inside the brain matter. It's only neurons and synapses, all packed into a super tight space. The world's greatest computer."

  "So, this blood supply is at the base of the brain?"

  "Correct, they send branches upwards that cover the brain." Dr Banerjee raised both hands like he was grasping a football.

  Then placed his palm on the skull, as if contemplating whether to remove it. Arla didn't want to see inside the brain, and luckily, the pathologist refrained. "Not much to see in the brain matter actually. The infarcted areas show up as black patches, and that’s it."

  “What caused it?" Harry asked.

  "The heart was playing up. That disturbed the blood supply."

  Arla asked, "So the brain infarction was the cause of death?"

  Dr Banerjee shrugged. "Yes, and no. When blood supply to the brain is disrupted, we have strokes. Strokes can paralyse a person, but they don't always kill. So I'm not sure if the brain infarction is the cause of death."

  Dr Banerjee put a hand up to stop Arla from speaking again. "Let me fin
ish, if you don't mind."

  Arla nodded. She had learned with experience that listening to the canny pathologist provided valuable new clues.

  "There are bruise marks in the scalp, here." Dr Banerjee pointed to the shaved areas of the scalp. Black and blue bruise marks were visible, but the general mottling of the skin also disguised them.

  The left side of the face was misshapen due to the trauma, and Arla could also see the orbits of the left eye were raised, disfigured. It gave the face a strange, macabre lopsided look. She glanced up at Dr Banerjee.

  "Anything in the rest of the face?"

  "No cuts or bruises inside the oral cavity. But I did find some vomit at the back of the throat. It takes the stomach about six hours to empty its contents. Quite a bit remained.” He smiled. “Which means I can send the stomach contents to the lab for toxicology.”

  Harry asked, “What are we looking for?”

  “Anything, really. Recreational drugs. Common poisons, like Arsenic.”

  "Moving down to the throat," Dr Banerjee pointed at the neck. "Bruise marks as seen earlier, with some internal bruising on the trachea, but as noted earlier, the trachea is not displaced. When I looked inside, the hyoid bone wasn't broken either. Therefore, we can rule out strangulation as a cause of death."

  Arla asked, "From the size of the bruises on his neck, can you tell it if it was a man or a woman's hand?"

  "Not really. The attacker wore gloves, in any case. Sorry," Dr Banerjee shrugged. Harry pointed at the bruise marks on the left lower ribs. "Was he hit there?"

  "Yes. He was punched repeatedly."

  Arla's eyebrows creased. "Quite vicious, then. She bent lower, and got her eyes level with the lower ribs. She could see the swollen, darkened skin that Dr Banerjee was referring to. She had noticed this earlier as well, but it was more pronounced now.

  Arla said." Fractured ribs?"

  Dr Banerjee nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. Multiple.”

  Arla pressed her lips together. Several aspects of this murder didn't make sense to her. The physical nature of the trauma, but the lack of evidence for the trauma being the cause of death.

  Dr Banerjee continued. "When I dissected into their tissue of the heart, it was healthy, but it showed severe contractions."

  Arla raised her eyebrows. "So, he had a heart attack, right?"

  Dr Banerjee grimaced. "No. It means he was having irregular activity, or arrythmias. The heart muscle normally contracts in a regular manner, all our lives. But with arrythmias, it can start moving like a bag of worms.” He held up his fingers and moved them like he was squeezing an invisible object.

  Harry said, "And why would that be?"

  "He could have had some pre-existing heart disease. The problem is, I cannot find evidence of any. His coronary arteries are clear. His blood tests don’t show raised cholesterol, and he wasn’t diabetic."

  “So what caused the arrythmia?”

  The pathologist adjusted his glasses. “I’m not sure. I need to think about it some more.”

  "But you think the heart disease was the cause of death?"

  Dr Banerjee looked troubled. His jaws flexed, and he looked down at the victim. "Once again, I think the heart problems contributed, and led to the brain infarction. But I can't find one single cause of death."

  Harry said, “What’s bothering you?”

  The elderly pathologist gazed meditatively at Harry for a few seconds. “A few things. If he had arrythmias, then why was he not on medication for them?”

  “Maybe he started taking them recently?”

  The pathologist shook his head. “Maybe. But he was a physician, and I would expect him to have had an ECG at least. There’s nothing in his medical records.”

  He continued. “And for an otherwise healthy man, it’s unusual to have a sudden, severe arrythmia like this. So bad that blood churned in the heart, and threw off clots to the brain, causing the infarctions.”

  He raised his gloved hands, then let them fall to the sides. "Look, I know I am a pathologist, and I'm supposed to give a cause of death. But in this case, I'm a bit confused.”

  Arla seized on to his chain of thought, and completed it. "You don't know what caused the heart to suddenly malfunction."

  Dr Banerjee smiled at her. "Exactly."

  Dr Banerjee moved down the arms. "Lacerations in the knuckles, and swelling in the fingers, where he tried to stop himself from getting punched, and probably hit back. There are skin fragments underneath the nails. I think this happened when he was scratching his attacker as he was being strangled."

  "You sent the skin fragments for DNA, right?"

  "Yes. The results should be back in two days.”

  Arla sighed. "Wish it was sooner."

  "I will pressure them. So can you." He pointed to the rest of the body. "Nothing in the genital region, or in the legs. He did have some faecal incontinence, and that can happen if the brain is affected. He lost control of his bodily functions."

  Dr Banerjee walked off, and discarded his gloves and gown into a bin. Harry and Arla followed.

  Arla leaned against a table, staring at the row of gurneys. "What's going on here, Doc?"

  "Let's go and sit down," Dr Banerjee suggested. "I could do with a break myself." He had a brief chat with Lorna, who agreed to bring down some coffee and biscuits. Dr Banerjee's office was wood panelled, and comfortable. Original artwork hung in frames, with photos of him with his two daughters, and his departed wife.

  After they sat down, Arla told him about John Churchill, and his wife's affair with Stephen Vaughan.

  "It doesn't surprise me," the pathologist said, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. "I spoke to Julian. I gave him your number as well, so feel free to call him. Stephen was known to have a roving eye. He also had a sniffing habit, if you know what I mean."

  "Cocaine?" Harry asked. Lorna came in with a tray of steaming coffee mugs and biscuits. They murmured their appreciation.

  "Yes," Dr Banerjee said. "When I was younger, I remember Julian saying Stephen liked going to nightclubs and partying. When he was older, I guess he didn't stop."

  "That's why I sent off the mouth, nose and stomach samples to toxicology. If he was taking a lot of cocaine, then it would definitely affect his heart muscles."

  They sipped their coffee in silence. The smell of old wood and books gave the room a nice, homely atmosphere. Arla told the pathologist about the hooded man in the parking lot, and how he attached Dr Vaughan inside his car. When she mentioned the physical similarity between John Churchill and the attacker, Dr Banerjee frowned.

  "I find it disturbing that you think John Churchill might be the man on CCTV."

  Arla pursed her lips. "You'd be surprised what a jealous and angry man can get up to, Doc."

  "Yes, I know" Dr Banerjee sighed. "I wonder if the DNA from the skin fragments under his nails will match John Churchill's."

  Arla nodded. "That's what I'm thinking as well."

  CHAPTER 26

  Baroness Sandra Pitt was in her office. She was speaking on her headphones, having joined a UK government’s cabinet meeting a few minutes ago. She walked round her spacious office on the first floor as she talked. From the front window she could see the gates facing the road, and the security guards.

  She raised her voice to make a counterpoint against an argument raised by a junior minister. In her opinion, ministers knew very little about the way governments worked. It was the civil servants, like herself, who kept the country running. Politicians came and went, pushing their own agendas. But behind the scenes, the same old routine continued.

  From the corner of her eye, she detected movement on the road. The gates were opening. She was going to ignore it, but noticed the black BMW stop in front of the house. A tall, wide shouldered man got out. He took out a badge and showed it to the security guard, then spoke to him.

  From the passenger side, Sandra saw a woman emerge. She wore a black trouser business suit. The woman stared up at the house.
Her eyes skimmed across the windows and came to rest at Sandra's office. Sandra knew she wouldn't be seen. Regardless, she took a couple of steps back.

  She was still speaking when the thick mahogany door of her study opened a fraction. Sandra frowned and waved the person away, indicating she was in the call. Then she saw it was Rochelle, and something in her eyes made Sandra pause.

  She carried on listening, but beckoned Rochelle to come inside. Sandra remained by the window, watching the BMW as it entered through the gates. It parked in the forecourt, which was large enough to hold a truck.

  The man and woman stepped out and the security guard showed them to the front door. They vanished beneath the portico of the house, and Sandra frowned. To her mind, the pair looked like police. She was expecting them, but she doubted they came bearing good news.

  She finished the call, saying she would draft a response to the media concerning the matter. Her eyes fell on the blue flowering plant on her windowsill. She loved the vivid colour, and the way the flower opened up to show its black stems inside. Sandra had several of these plants, and they were all in her office. She kept a glass lid on them, and loved looking after them. It was her form of relaxation.

  Rochelle came forward as she took the headphones off. She stared at her daughter's concerned eyes, and a sense of unease stirred inside her.

  "The police are here. Apparently, something has happened to Stephen Vaughan."

  Sandra frowned. "What?"

  "I don't know. But the police want to speak to you."

  "Did they explain why?"

  Rochelle shook her head. Sandra lowered her head, staring at the polished parquet floor for a few seconds. Then she nodded. "I knew they were coming. Send them in."

  As Rochelle left, she called out. "And leave us alone please, darling. Don't let anyone disturb us."

  Sandra walked to the other end of the room. Her study was large, and it functioned as a library as well. It traversed the entire width of the mansion. The windows at the other end looked into the spacious lawn. Several blue aconite plants adorned the windowsill. Each plant was within its glass case.