by M A Comley
Mr. Bartlett showed them to the front door. “Thank you, Inspector. Please keep us informed with your findings?”
“You have my word on that, sir. Here’s my card. Call me any time, day or night.”
“You’re very kind. I’m sure we’ll be okay once the news has sunk in. Umm…what happens now? Regarding Jenny’s body, I mean.” He gulped.
“The pathologist is still conducting his examination. Would you like me to arrange for you to see Jenny?”
“Would we recognise her?”
“To be honest, we usually need someone to make a formal ID, but I’m sure we can organise a DNA identification, given that your daughter’s body was exposed to the elements.” Lorne did not want to tell the man that his daughter’s face had been nibbled on by animals, but she did want to express that she felt it would be better if he didn’t see his daughter in her present state. However, experience told her that family members needed to see their loved ones to say goodbye, regardless of the body’s condition.
“I’ll make the ID.”
“Okay, I’ll inform the pathologist department to ring you direct. I’ll be in touch soon, Mr. Bartlett. Again, please accept our condolences for your loss.”
Lorne and Pete drove back to the station, tossing ideas around about the case.
“What’s with the phone call, do you think?” Pete asked.
“Maybe it was made under duress?”
“Right. Well, as soon as we get back, I’ll get on to the airports and see if she did leave the country at all.”
“I want to check if Simon has turned up to register his prints yet, and then we’ll get on with searching Jenny’s flat.”
“You don’t think he’s involved in this, do you?”
Lorne shook her head. “No, I seriously don’t. We’ve got enough to be going on with at present. Let’s see if anything shows up before we consider pulling him in for questioning.”
They stopped off to buy baguettes for lunch and pulled into the car park just as Simon Killon was leaving the station, his head bowed.
She pointed. “Does he have the look of a guilty man to you, Pete?”
“He could be pretending to be upset, given his location.”
“Nope, I think you’re wrong. You need to get a better handle on picking up on people’s emotions, partner.”
“We’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong when we wrap up the case.”
Lorne climbed out of the car and called out, “How did it go, Mr. Killon?”
Startled, the man acknowledged them with a brief wave. “Okay, Inspector. Call me if you need anything else.”
“We will. Thanks for dropping by.”
They watched the man get in his car and drive past as they walked into the station. Lorne knew her instincts about the man’s innocence were right. They have to be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After another blazing row with her husband, Tom, over their daughter’s behaviour, Lorne felt relieved to arrive at work the following day. Pete was already sitting at his desk, searching the Internet with the telephone balancing between his shoulder and his ear. He gave her the thumbs-up as she passed, en route to her own office.
“Come and see me in a few minutes,” she mouthed to him. She groaned when she saw the pile of post swamping her desk, saying out loud, “How the hell am I supposed to solve murder cases with that crap descending on me every day? I need to have a word with the DCI about getting me a PA of sorts.”
Pete crept up behind, startling her. “I can’t see that happening, boss. I wish I could help you out, but you know me. I ain’t got the patience for all that crap.”
“Yeah, I know you all too well, Pete. I suspect most of ‘that crap’ comes from your dislike of filling out paperwork correctly.”
“Bull. Give me a break, boss. I’m not that bad.”
“Sit down. No, on second thought, get me a coffee first, will you?”
Pete grumbled something indecipherable as he left the office. Lorne chuckled and hung her jacket on the back of her chair. She separated the brown envelopes from the white ones and set aside both piles for when she’d finished her coffee.
“Here you go. I got in about half an hour ago. I’ve rung the airlines, which proved pointless. I don’t think Jenny ever left the country,” Pete said, flopping into the chair after handing her a cup of vending-machine coffee.
“Okay. Well, I think we should head out to Jenny’s flat this morning. We’ll take AJ with us and search every corner of the place until something shows up. There has to be some clue there.”
“I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. What about the two friends her parents gave you? Any luck there?”
“No. I rang them from home last night as I couldn’t reach them during the day.”
“Whoa, hold it right there. I bet Tom wasn’t pleased about you taking work home with you.”
Lorne’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling. “Nope, your best mate wasn’t very pleased. Nothing I do lately pleases him, though. Anyway, I didn’t get anywhere with the friends, either. Jenny didn’t confide in them at all. They had no idea that she was even contemplating taking a trip, let alone if she actually went on one. Which brings us back to the idea that Jenny placed that call to her parents under duress and as a means of possible distraction by whoever killed her.”
“So, do you think she was abducted?”
“I’m going to ring Arnaud once I’ve had my coffee, to see if he found any evidence of Jenny being sexually assaulted.”
“Good luck speaking to him first thing.” Pete sniggered and slurped his coffee.
• • •
Ten minutes later, filled with trepidation, Lorne picked up the phone and dialled Jacques Arnaud’s number.
“Yes?” came his swift, no-nonsense reply.
“It’s DI Simpkins. I wondered if any further evidence has shown up during your tests on Jenny Bartlett, Doctor.”
“Not yet.”
“Oh. One more question before I go then, if I may? Was the victim sexually assaulted at all?”
“No, she wasn’t. I can categorically answer that question. As to everything else, it’s far too early to have the test results. I’ll ring you when I have any news. Goodbye, Inspector.”
Lorne quickly pulled the phone away from her ear because the doctor had a tendency to slam the phone down, and it was far too early in the day to have a lingering ringing sensation in her inner ear.
She left the office to find her partner at his computer. “Are we ready to rumble, Pete? AJ, are you almost ready?”
“I’m ready,” Pete replied.
AJ pulled the jacket off the back of his chair, eager, as ever, to get on with things. Lorne liked the young recruit, who had never given Lorne any reason to question his ability in the team.
“Wait a minute, AJ. I want you to do something for me before we head off.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I want you to track down Jenny Bartlett’s phone records for me, for both her home number and her mobile. Let’s see if we can trace her final steps from them, okay?”
“On it now.”
The three of them left the station and drove through the heavy traffic back to Jenny’s flat, this time armed with the key her parents had given Lorne. The second they passed the neighbouring flat, Mrs. Goulder appeared at the door.
“Hello again. Any news on how Jenny…died?”
Aware of how fearful these kinds of situations could be for elderly neighbours, Lorne instructed Pete and AJ to proceed without her while she took the time to speak to the neighbour.
“Hello, Mrs. Goulder. No news as yet, I’m afraid. We’re going to conduct a thorough search of Miss Bartlett’s flat. It’ll probably take us a couple of hours. I was going to knock to let you know. How are you holding up? Are you getting any sleep?”
“Not much, dear, but then, I tend not to sleep well anyway. I’ll rustle up some tea for you, if you like?”
“That’s very kind of you. I’ll organise t
he boys and drop back to see you in a few minutes.”
Lorne smiled as she joined the rest of her team in the flat. “Sweet lady next door is going to furnish us with cups of tea soon, boys. Anything so far?”
“Give us a chance, boss,” Pete complained.
Lorne wrinkled her nose and grinned at her partner. “You better get on with things then, Pete. We haven’t got all day.”
Pete grumbled and walked into the bedroom.
“Mind if I ask specifically what we’re looking for, ma’am?” AJ asked, standing by the TV cabinet in the corner of the small lounge.
“Anything and everything, AJ. First stop should be an address book of sorts, perhaps a diary. We also need to locate Jenny’s handbag and telephone, although I suspect she had those with her at the time of the incident, and they’re more likely to be found at the crime scene if the criminal didn’t take them with him.”
“Okay, I’ll start here. This drawer is full to bursting with papers that appear to have been stuffed in here rather than placed neatly.”
“Just make sure you put your latex gloves on before you touch anything.”
“Yes, ma’am.” AJ snapped gloves on his large hands.
Lorne ran into the bedroom. “Just checking that you’ve got your gloves on, Pete?”
He waved his plastic-covered hands and tutted. “Of course.”
Lorne left her colleagues to rummage through the flat and went next door to collect their refreshments. She returned with a tray weighted down with three mugs of tea and a plateful of digestive biscuits. AJ seemed to be looking through something of interest. She placed the tray on the coffee table next to him. “What have you got there?”
“A bundle of love letters.”
“From?” She guessed they were from Simon Killon.
“Her ex, Killon. Pretty racy in parts, too.”
Lorne picked up one of the letters. Her cheeks warmed when she read Simon’s openly passionate words. “It’s a shame these letters aren’t dated. Do you have any envelopes there, or have they all been discarded?”
AJ shook his head. “Nope, just the letters. I’ve never seen that before, have you? Wouldn’t you want to keep them intact for as long as possible?”
“If they meant that much to me, sure, I’d definitely keep each of the letters in their relevant envelopes. Not that I’ve had any love letters over the years. Crikey, some of these put Fifty Shades to shame.” She fanned herself with the letter she’d read a snippet from.
“That’s just it. They vary a lot in nature. Some I’d put down as pure smut, and some are almost poetic.”
“Maybe they altered the more intense their relationship became—that’s why it’s frustrating not to have any dates on them. I know you haven’t had the chance to read many, but from the ones you’ve read, would you put any of them down to obsessive or stalkerish behaviour, AJ?”
“Too early to tell. Let me read through a few more, and then I’ll make that call. Is that all right, ma’am?”
“Sure. I think we’ll be here the rest of the morning anyway, so take your time. Don’t forget your cuppa.” She left AJ and dipped back into the bedroom to help Pete. “Anything?” She placed two mugs on the bedside table and sat on the bed.
“Not really.”
“Well, there has to be something here. I’ll take a look in the wardrobe. We women generally choose to stash things in there.”
“Be my guest—I hate hunting through people’s clothes anyway.” He took a sip from his tea and shuddered. “No bloody sugar. How am I supposed to drink this?”
“Try either holding your nose or shoving a few biscuits down your neck to compensate.”
“Biscuits? You holding out on me?”
Lorne blew out a breath and returned to the lounge to fetch the biscuits. “Here. God, you’re always thinking of your stomach, man.” She opened the wardrobe to find it bulging with varied outfits. Smart suits filled one end and casual clothes the other. On the shelf above the rail, she found several shoeboxes. Most of them had shoes inside, but one caught her attention. She took it over to the bed and emptied its contents onto the quilt.
“What have you got there?” Pete leaned over her shoulder.
“Not absolutely sure. Give me a few minutes.” At the bottom of the pile was a small address book. Lorne flicked through the pages, but it had barely any entries. Then she found a matching five-year diary that also had very little written inside. “Pretty frustrating. Not much info in these.”
She returned to the shelf and reached for the overnight bag sitting at the rear. Inside one of the internal pockets, she found Jenny Bartlett’s passport. The most recent date stamp was from the previous year. It backed up Lorne’s suspicions that the woman had not left the country back in April, around the time of her murder.
Lorne waved the passport in the air. “Bingo. Jenny never went to Africa, after all.”
“I didn’t think there was any doubt about that,” Pete replied, ever the smartarse.
“I know, but there’s such a thing as having hard evidence to back up projected theories, partner.”
Again, he turned back to the chest of drawers and grumbled for being slapped down.
The rest of the search proved fruitless. Lorne and AJ gathered all the relevant evidence into paper evidence bags and labelled them appropriately. After returning the mugs to Mrs. Goulder, Lorne locked up the flat and drove the team back to the station.
AJ had a message waiting for him on his desk when they arrived back in the incident room. “That was quick. Here’s the phone records I ordered, ma’am.”
“And? When was her last call made, mobile first, AJ?”
“I’ll have to check the number, but if my memory serves me right, the last call was made to her parents.” He moved a few papers on his desk, located a sheet of paper, and nodded. “Yep, it was.”
“And the last number she made from her landline?” Lorne took off her jacket, draped it over her arm, and perched her backside on the nearest desk.
AJ was already matching the numbers. He nodded and glanced up at Lorne. “Simon Killon’s number. Okay, upon further investigation, she received a call from his number lasting two minutes, then she returned the call almost immediately. It lasted nearly five minutes.”
“That is strange and clearly puts Simon in the frame, despite my gut instincts.” She pointed at Pete and warned, “Don’t even go there.”
“Moi? Condemn your gut instinct? I wouldn’t dream of it. What do you want to do? Pick him up for questioning?”
“Let me think things over first. I still think we need to make a thorough search of the crime scene, extend it if we have to. I’ll chase up the SOCO team, see what they’ve come up with before we waste any time going over the same patch. I’ll get back to you in a few minutes on that one, okay?”
Lorne’s brow knitted together as she walked through the incident room and into her office. She was adamant that Simon was innocent, but with the evidence pointing in his direction, she kicked herself for screwing up. Or had she?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The results from the Scenes of Crimes Department were very disappointing. Lorne placed her head in her hands and tugged at the roots of her hair.
“Easy there. You’ll end up with a bald patch,” Pete joked from the doorway.
“Nothing. I was sure they would find something at the scene.”
“I’m game for it if you are. Either that, or we go over to Simon Killon’s house with a warrant and search the place. He’s our prime suspect, after all.”
“I’d rather not go down that route just yet. If we cock up that avenue of enquiries from the outset, it’s going to be hard to get back on track.” She jumped out of her chair and walked towards him. “Okay, let’s see what we can find at the scene. I hope you’ve got your specs and magnifying glass tucked away in your pocket, matey.”
Pete tapped his chest. “Indeed. Not sure we can do better than the SOCO team, but I’m willing to give it a try.�
��
Lorne trotted back to her desk and placed the sketch of Jenny Bartlett in an A4 transparent plastic sleeve. “I’ll take this just in case.”
• • •
The grassy area, popular with dog-walkers, near the trees was clear of crime scene tape and looked back to normal when Lorne and Pete arrived.
“It was around here, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“Yep, I think so.”
“Let’s split up. Keep within shouting distance of each other. I want every blade of grass investigated, okay?”
“Yep, you’ve got it.”
Lorne eyed the area, imagining where SOCO’s marquee had been erected days before, and began her search just beyond that. The grass was still damp due to the time of year and because of the darkening clouds overhead. Thankful that she’d had the sense to don her wellies, she moved the grass with her foot. This procedure took her and Pete until mid-afternoon to complete. The search wasn’t ideal, but it put her mind at rest, thinking she’d gone the extra mile for the victim.
“Stop.” Lorne placed her outstretched arm in front of Pete then pointed. A slight ray of sun had peeped through a cumulus cloud and highlighted an object on the ground. She rushed to the muddy area at the edge of the long grass and bent down to retrieve the object.
“Stop,” Pete warned. “Use a glove.”
Lorne cursed herself for not considering the advice she had dished out to her colleagues a few hours ago. She took a glove from her jacket pocket and brushed away the mud around the object. When she realised it was a mobile phone, she looked up at her partner and punched the air. “Let’s hope it’s Jenny’s.”
She tucked it in an evidence bag, and they rushed back to the car. Lorne drove like a maniac and pulled up outside the pathology department. “Stay here. I won’t be long.” She raced through the entrance and was standing outside Arnaud’s office, trying to catch her breath, when the door pulled open.