by Sally Rigby
They went up to the officer on duty, signed in, and then headed up the tarmac drive to the front door, which was open. As they got close, Jenny was on her way out, pulling off her protective clothing.
‘Morning, Whitney. George,’ Jenny said.
‘I didn’t expect to see you still here,’ Whitney said.
‘We finished yesterday, but I left my torch upstairs, so I came back to collect it.’
‘Anything to report so far?’
‘We did a full sweep of the house, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. Plenty of fingerprints, which we assume will be from members of the family. The only anomaly was the kitchen.’
‘Anomaly?’ Whitney asked.
‘No prints anywhere. It had been wiped down to within an inch of its life. Every piece of cutlery. Every piece of crockery. Every cooking implement. Every surface. All spotless.’
‘When I looked yesterday, I thought that someone in the family was excessively house-proud and we’ve since learnt that Mrs Barker was. But this doesn’t sound like that. Even the most house-proud person would leave some prints. Especially if there are prints in other places. What about the bathroom, that would be comparable with the kitchen if someone was a germophobe?’
‘The bathrooms appeared clean to the naked eye but, in fact, had many prints, like every other room in the house. They were what I call superficially clean, by which I mean if you peep behind the toilet or along the top of the tiles, there are places which haven’t seen a cloth for a long time.’
‘In which case, the kitchen could have been cleaned by the killer. Why? Did they cook the meal left in front of the victims?’
‘Sorry, I can’t help you with that. I’ve got to go because I’m expected back at work. We’re short-staffed and the work is piling up,’ Jenny said.
The forensics officer left, and they headed into the house. George followed Whitney into the dining room and pulled on the pair of disposable gloves the officer had given her.
‘This is it,’ Whitney said gesturing at the crime scene. ‘They were all found seated around the table. David Barker was at the head, at the far end. Gillian Barker was opposite. The two boys sat next to one another to the left of their mother, and the daughter sat on the right, with an empty space beside her.’
‘And they were all tied to their chairs with a meal on the table?’
‘Yes. We’ll go to the morgue next to speak to Claire for an update. Have you any observations to make? Brian wondered whether it was a murder-suicide, but I can’t see it myself because of how they were all left.’
‘There would seem little point in tying oneself up unless it was to ensure they wouldn’t be found guilty. But why do that, if they’re all dead, anyway?’
‘I know, right? That’s why I discounted it.’
‘Unless it was to implicate someone else.’
‘How likely would that be?’
‘In my opinion, not very. But we shouldn’t discount it. Having said that, assuming there was a killer, and it wasn’t done by one of the victims, then two thoughts immediately come to mind regarding how the killer operated. First, they could have been seated at the empty space, and so would have been in the house already and not be suspected. Or they came in through the door, and the father would have been the first one to have seen them. The father would need to be dealt with first, as he would be the most likely to fight to save the family. Maybe the killer had a weapon. Something to ensure they had control.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘You mentioned the victims had a meal in front of them. What about the empty space, was there a meal there, too? Was it set with cutlery, in the same way as the others?’
‘Possibly, but I can’t be certain because Claire wouldn’t let us get close enough to have a proper look. She would’ve taken the meals and utensils to analyse, we’ll ask when we see her.’
‘What was the meal?’
‘Lamb shanks.’
‘But none of the food was touched?’
‘Not that we could see.’
‘If there was a place setting in the spare seat, it would indicate that someone either was there or had been invited. Even if place mats are left out on a table, it would be unusual for cutlery and glassware to be.’
‘Yes. But who? And were they the killer? That’s what we’d need to find out.’
‘Let’s have a look in the kitchen. I’m interested to see it,’ George said.
Whitney led the way.
‘See what she means about it being spotless, you could eat your dinner off the floor. Even yours isn’t this clean and tidy,’ Whitney said. ‘No offence.’
George headed over to the wall where there was a calendar, ignoring Whitney’s comments. It was full of entries which she read.
‘Whitney, I’ve got something. On Saturday’s date there’s the name Corey written, but it’s been crossed out. This could be the sixth person they were expecting for dinner. And, if so, who cancelled and why?’
Whitney came over and joined her.
‘Well spotted. I’ll take this with us. There’s powder residue on it, so it’s been dusted for prints. But why didn’t Colin or Jenny bring it in? Maybe they didn’t spot the entry.’ She pulled out an evidence bag from her pocket and dropped the calendar into it.
‘Jenny did explain how backed up forensics are. Perhaps they missed it,’ George said.
‘I’ll give Ellie a call and get her to track this Corey down.’
George continued looking around the kitchen while Whitney spoke to the officer. She pulled open drawers, opened cupboards, and looked on all the surfaces, but didn’t discover anything of interest, or that appeared to be out of the ordinary.
‘There’s nothing else of note here,’ she said once Whitney had ended her call with Ellie. ‘I’ve examined everywhere, and nothing is standing out. It’s only the calendar that might be of some use.’
‘Okay, we’ll go to the morgue and find out what Claire has for us.’
They left the house and returned to the car.
‘How’s Tiffany and the baby?’ George asked as they were driving towards the hospital. She hadn’t yet asked about them, which was remiss of her.
‘Would you like come round later to see them?’
‘I saw them when Ava was first born.’
‘That doesn’t mean you can’t see them again. Why don’t you have dinner with us tonight? Tiffany would love to see you.’
George was partial to the company of Whitney and her daughter and, despite not being at all maternal, when she’d met the baby and held her, she did experience a wave of affection for the child.
‘Thank you, that would be delightful. I’ll text Ross and let him know I’ll be late.’
‘Would he like to come, too?’
‘Ordinarily, I’m sure he’d love to, but he’s working to a very tight deadline on a recent commission.’
‘Okay, we’ll arrange it for another time. Now put your foot down and get us there quickly. We’ve got a lot to do.’
Chapter 8
Whitney pushed open the double doors to the morgue and immediately turned right to go into the small area where Claire and the other pathologists had their office. It was a tiny space, devoid of any personal touches, and each of the three desks had a computer screen on them. As they got closer, they heard Claire in a one-sided conversation, indicating she was on the phone.
The pathologist glanced at them and held her hand up, gesturing for them to stay where they were and not come in, so they stepped back into the larger entrance area.
Whitney couldn’t hear what Claire was saying because her voice was low and a different tone from normal. None of the abrasiveness that was her trademark. Was she talking to Ralph, the husband they’d yet to meet? He was also a pathologist, and that’s about all Claire had told them. The pathologist kept her social and work lives separate. Except for when she’d joined George and Whitney for a post-wedding celebratory drink and the rare occasion after work they�
��d got together at the local pub.
Whitney looked at George, who had a distant expression on her face. She was probably worried about the issues with her parents. Talk about a turnaround. They’d never had time for George, and now suddenly they needed her and expected her to jump. They couldn’t be more different from her own parents if they’d tried. For all their money, and fancy house and lifestyle, Whitney wouldn’t want to be part of George’s family for anything on Earth.
‘What’s wrong?’ George asked, catching her staring.
‘Oh, nothing. Just thinking about life,’ she said dismissively, not wishing to share her musings.
‘Enter.’ Claire’s voice boomed out.
They walked into the office and the pathologist stood, coming over to greet them.
Today’s outfit was a horizontally striped blue and red dress, which came to just above her knee, complete with purple ribbed tights and a pair of red shoes with a bow. In her ears were the largest gold ball studs that she’d ever seen.
Whitney forced back a smile. She should be used to Claire’s attire by now, but it still made her laugh. She’d give anything to meet the pathologist’s husband and discuss fashion with him. They might not have been introduced, but she’d googled him and at least knew what he looked like, which was very conservative in comparison to Claire.
‘Good morning,’ George said.
‘And good morning to you both, too,’ Claire responded.
‘You sound happy today,’ Whitney dared to venture.
‘Actually, I am. I was just speaking to my husband, and he’s booked a holiday for us in Iceland so we can see the Northern Lights. I’m looking forward to it immensely.’
‘Oh, that’s going to be cold,’ Whitney said, a shiver running through her at the thought.
‘It’s a place I’ve always intended to visit. I’ll be very interested to hear from you what it’s like,’ George said.
Whitney would much prefer a holiday in the sun. Somewhere in Europe would be perfect. She couldn’t even remember the last time she went somewhere hot.
‘The same for me. Ralph booked it as a surprise for my birthday,’ Claire said.
‘It’s your birthday today?’ Whitney asked, amazed at how much the pathologist was sharing. She was acting so out of character.
‘No. It’s for the future.’
‘When is your birthday?’
‘It’s nothing to do with you as we don’t exchange cards or gifts.’
That was more like it. Whitney was beginning to worry that Claire had morphed into a whole new person.
‘Well, make sure you’ve got plenty of warm clothes to take with you because you’re going to need them,’ Whitney said.
‘That’s a given. I’m planning a shopping trip very soon.’
‘Where do you buy your clothes?’ Whitney had always been curious but hadn’t ever plucked up the courage to ask. This seemed the perfect opportunity to find out.
‘There are several special places I go to, and don’t even think about asking where they are. I’m not sharing their names and locations with you. I don’t want you to start replicating my wardrobe.’
‘I’d never do that. You have my word. You have your own style, which is nothing like mine,’ Whitney said, pushing back the bubble of laughter that was threatening to come out of her mouth.
‘That’s enough of this chit-chat. I’m assuming you’re here about the bodies discovered yesterday,’ Claire said abruptly, signalling that the conversation was over and they were back in work mode.
Whitney breathed a sigh of relief. She’d couldn’t have remained serious if they had to discuss clothes a moment longer. Even if she was still none the wiser as to where Claire shopped. Had it amused George as much? She doubted it. Knowing George, she’d think Whitney was mean for finding it funny. Perhaps she was a little, but she’d never share her views with anyone else.
‘I’m hoping you’ve got something useful for us. This case is tricky in more ways than one.’
‘I see,’ Claire said.
‘Don’t you want to know why?’
‘If it’s relevant to the post-mortem.’
The pathologist was very like George in some respects. It could be frustrating, to say the least.
‘It probably isn’t, but I’m going to tell you anyway. Chief Superintendent Douglas’s wife was a cousin of David Barker, which means he’s going to be on our case the whole time.’
‘He’s the chap you don’t like, if I recall correctly,’ Claire said.
‘It’s a bit more than that, Claire. I don’t dislike people for no reason. We have history, and he’s been a thorn in my side since I joined the force.’
‘In that case, you’d better come with me, and I’ll share what I have so far.’ Claire pulled on her white coat, and they followed her into the morgue area. ‘I haven’t got all the bodies out as we don’t have sufficient tables. I’ll show you some of my findings and talk you through the rest.’
‘Perfect,’ Whitney said.
‘There were some differences between the victims, which is interesting. We’ll start with David Barker, who is over here.’
They followed Claire to the far side of the room where the body was laid out on the table. Claire pulled back the white sheet, revealing the Y-shaped incision from where she’d completed the post-mortem.
‘Do you know yet how they were killed?’ Whitney asked, anxious to discover if they were drugged.
‘I’ve sent their bloods off to toxicology, but from my investigation I believe that they were injected with an overdose of a sedative. After examining each victim’s cardiovascular systems and their coronary arteries, without exception their aortas and aortic branches were enlarged. Also, the veins inside their lungs were swollen from haemorrhaging. This indicates they were given an overdose of an anaesthetic, like midazolam. Toxicology will confirm my conclusions.’
‘I thought you said there were differences, but this implies they were all killed in the same manner,’ Whitney said.
‘Stop being impatient, I’m getting to that.’
‘Sorry. Please continue.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to do.’ Claire glared at her. ‘Yes, they all received the sedative overdose, but not in exactly the same way. And that’s where the differences lie. Can you see the bruising around the needle site on this victim?’ She pointed to the side of David Barker’s neck.
‘Yes,’ Whitney said nodding, as she leant forward to look at the purple discolouration on the victim’s skin.
‘It presents as a random, ill-conceived action, with several attempts to inject into the vein. Because of this, in my opinion, David Barker was sedated first. When I examined the other victims, it became apparent that they were injected in a more careful manner, in the deltoid muscle of their upper arm, and not the neck. There was also far less bruising around each of the entry points. I’ll show you on this body.’
Claire moved to the table next to her, where one of the young boys was laid out.
Nausea washed over Whitney. She could face most things, but not the death of a child. ‘Sick bastard,’ she muttered.
‘Are you okay?’ George asked.
‘I’m fine. Seeing a child like this just gets to me.’
‘We have to learn to suppress our feelings,’ Claire said, the kindness in her voice surprising Whitney and throwing her off balance.
‘I’m trying. Show us this entry point.’
The pathologist used the end of a pen to highlight a tiny spot on the arm. ‘It was here, but hardly visible,’
Whitney couldn’t see anything.
‘It would make sense for the attacker to go for David Barker first because with his build and strength he would most likely be the greatest threat. Once he’d been disabled, the others wouldn’t have tried to do anything. The killer would have stabbed him with the needle in the easiest place. Necks are usually on show,’ George said.
‘Yes, they were my exact conclusions, too,’ Claire said.
‘We need to consider whether the killer had a weapon, because simply wielding a syringe surely wouldn’t be enough to stop an altercation.’
‘That’s for you to discover,’ Claire said.
‘Is there anything else that differs between the victims?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes, there is. There are traces of duct tape around the mouth of Gillian Barker and not on anyone else.’
‘So she had tape on her mouth for part of the time and then it was removed,’ George said.
‘That’s correct.’
‘Post-mortem?’
‘Yes. There was no sign of inflammation from it being removed.’
‘Did you see the tape anywhere at the scene?’ Whitney asked.
‘No,’ Claire said.
‘Was it used to stop her from screaming, do you think?’ Whitney asked.
‘Why do you continue to ask questions like this? At the risk of repeating myself, that’s for you to find out, not me. My role here is to explain what was found, not do your investigative work for you.’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t try to draw any conclusions, because I don’t believe you,’ Whitney said.
‘Not when there are so many bodies to deal with.’
‘Were there any marks on the bodies which would indicate a physical assault?’ George asked.
‘No. From my investigation, there were no signs of struggle. I would also suggest that one of the children was given the job to tie everyone to their chair.’
‘Which child?’ Whitney asked.
‘The girl. Keira Barker. There are rope fibres under her fingernails that are consistent with her having contact with it.’
‘Couldn’t they have got there from being tied up and trying to wriggle free?’ Whitney asked.
‘I don’t believe so. The way each of them had been tied, it wouldn’t have been possible for those fibres to have got there. Also, she was tied by a different person from the others, as evidenced by the different knot used on her. A basic square knot, or reef knot as you might know it, was used on the rest of the family. On Keira, it was a taut line knot, the type used to secure a tent.’