by Sally Rigby
‘Actually, it was my family’s money which enabled us to buy this house. When my parents died, we used my inheritance. To be honest, I wanted to live in Chapel Brampton, but Russell was very attached to Lenchester, and so I agreed to move here.’
That was how he did it. How did he feel being a kept man? Well, not so much a kept man but the fact his wife had so much money they could afford to live here and move in posh social circles.
‘Do you work?’ Whitney asked.
‘Part-time for an art gallery. We commission young artists and help them set up exhibitions.’
‘Fascinating work, I imagine,’ George said.
‘Yes, it is. Art is my passion. At Oxford I studied History of Art and English Literature.’
‘Do you have any children?’ she asked.
‘No, we don’t.’ A shadow crossed her face. ‘We tried for a long time, but it wasn’t to be. I wanted to look into IVF, but Russell didn’t. He said if we didn’t succeed it would depress him too much. We both threw ourselves into work instead.’
Whitney felt sorry for the woman. She didn’t know what she’d do if she hadn’t had Tiffany. She made her life worthwhile.
‘Does your husband have a home office?’ she asked.
‘Yes. I can show you.’
‘Thank you.’
She led them out of the drawing room and down the long corridor until they came to the last door, which she opened. In contrast to what they’d seen of the rest of the house, this room was furnished with modern furniture. A large, light wooden desk was under the window, with two easy chairs next to it, and two large paintings of hunting scenes hung on the far wall. A leather sofa ran alongside one of the other walls, and another was lined with books. Whitney strolled over to the bookcase and had a look. It was an eclectic mix, with the emphasis on sporting and economic books, although there was also some neatly stacked fiction in there.
‘Didn’t Russell use his laptop for work?’ Whitney asked, noticing one on his desk. There was a photograph next to it of him and Diana standing next to their horses.
‘He uses a tablet supplied by the firm.’
‘Did he work much from home?’
‘Yes. He was in here a lot.’
Whitney glanced again at how immaculate everything was. ‘He certainly kept it clean and tidy.’
‘We have a housekeeper. It’s her job to keep everything spotless.’
That was where she was going wrong. She needed a housekeeper. If only she could afford one.
‘What about his car? Did he take it with him when he went away?’
‘He has a driver when he goes to London. His office will tell you the name. His car is in the garage.’
‘Do you mind if we look through the desk to see if there’s anything which might help the investigation?’ she asked.
‘Not at all. Whatever will help your hunt for Russell’s…Russell’s…’ Her voice broke.
Whitney rested her hand on the woman’s arm and led her to one of the chairs beside the desk. ‘Why don’t you sit down for a moment, Diana? You’ve had a huge shock.’
‘Thank you.’
She sat in silence while Whitney and George continued looking around the office.
‘We’d like to take Russell’s laptop back to the station for our digital forensic unit to examine.’
‘Take whatever you like,’ Diana said, sounding back to normal.
‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’
‘He phoned two days ago to say his business was taking longer than anticipated and he would be back on Saturday.’
‘You don’t speak to him every day?’ Whitney asked.
‘We try to, but it seldom happens as we’re both so busy.’
‘It’s routine in suspicious deaths like Russell’s to ask the family their whereabouts during the time in question so they can be excluded from our enquiries. Please could you account for your movements over the last forty-eight hours?’ Whitney asked.
‘Wednesday I was at an art exhibition in Lenchester’s Museum Gallery for a couple of hours in the morning. Yesterday afternoon I went to Rugby to visit a gallery in the High Street. They’re featuring a young artist who we’re interested in acquiring. The rest of the time I was at home.’
‘Can you give me the name of the gallery in Rugby and the person you saw there?’
Diana took out her phone from her pocket and looked through her contacts. ‘The gallery is called Monique, and it’s at 57 High Street. I went to visit Monique Jefferson herself. She can vouch for me.’
Whitney wrote down the details.
‘Can anyone corroborate your movements during this time?’ Whitney asked.
‘The staff at the Museum Gallery know me, and Isobel is here every day from nine until four. I take the dog out for his evening walk around six-thirty, and I do remember on Thursday stopping to speak to Mike next door as he was bringing in his wheelie bin.’
‘Thank you for your help. That’s all we need for now. We should be finished in the office soon.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, as I have things to be getting on with. A funeral to arrange.’ She stood up, appearing much calmer than before.
‘We’re not sure yet when the body will be released.’
‘I understand, but I’ll still have other arrangements to put in place. If you’ll excuse me, Isobel will show you out.’
‘I’ll be in touch later to arrange for you to formally identify Russell. Someone will pick you up.’ Whitney pulled out a card from her pocket. ‘Here’s my card, if you need to speak to me.’
Mrs Atkins took the card and left the room, closing the door behind her.
‘What did you make of her?’ Whitney asked George.
‘She’s handling the news very well,’ George said.
‘She probably didn’t want to break down in front of us. Some people are like that. Especially…’
‘Don’t say my sort,’ George said, glaring at her.
‘I wasn’t going to,’ she said, not wanting to admit that was exactly what was about to come out of her mouth.
Whitney pulled on her disposable gloves and passed a pair over to George. She opened each of the drawers in his desk. Everything was ridiculously tidy and well laid out. She picked up the computer, ready for them to take.
‘Found anything interesting?’ she asked George, who was scanning the bookcase.
‘Not in terms of the books, but definitely in the way they’re all classified. Everything is in alphabetical order. With all those books, what a mission it would have been to set up.’
‘The whole house is the same. Nothing out of place, even the drawers in Russell’s desk. I like things tidy, but this is tidy in its extreme. This can’t be the work of Isobel. There’s something else at play here.’
‘Definitely. She’s only acting under instruction. Are they both like that, or is it just Diana?’ George said.
‘What makes you think it’s her and not him?’ Whitney asked.
‘If it was him, it would be mainly his office. But as you said, it seems to be the whole house. Or what we’ve seen of the house. Did you see the way she folded her newspaper when we walked into the room? Everything was just so. I’d like to look at their bedroom. I wonder if they share or if they have their own?’
‘Do all posh people have their own bedrooms? I thought it was only the Royal Family.’ Whitney’s mum and dad had shared a bedroom until the day he died. It seemed weird couples wouldn’t sleep in the same room.
‘I can’t speak for everyone,’ George said.
‘Do your parents have their own bedrooms?’
‘Yes, they do. But that’s because of the hours they both keep, and they don’t wish to disturb each other.’
‘And nothing to do with them being posh,’ Whitney quipped.
‘I’m not discussing this further, because I know your views,’ George said, shaking her head. Her eyes were twinkling, so Whitney knew she wasn’t upset.
‘Let’s get back
to the station and maybe we can start putting together some sort of profile. Hopefully Claire will have something for us, too.’
Chapter Six
They arrived back at the station early-afternoon, and as they entered the incident room, Whitney’s phone rang.
‘Walker.’ She paused. ‘I can be there in half an hour. I’ll bring George.’ She ended the call and continued to the desk beside the board.
George bristled. Whitney had a tendency to make decisions which included her, without consulting first. Though she supposed it was understandable, as this was Whitney’s investigation. But being a typical eldest child meant George struggled when others wanted to take charge of her life.
‘Listen up, everyone. We’ve just got back from interviewing the victim’s wife and have dropped his laptop off at forensics. George and I are going to see Dr Dexter to find out what she’s got for us. In the meantime, how are we getting on with the research? Ellie?’
‘I’ve been looking into his background. Matt’s visiting his workplace to interview the staff.’
‘I want you to track down when and where he last used his credit card. His wife mentioned he uses a company to drive him when he goes to London. Contact Matt and ask him to check it out for us and find out exactly what appointments he had in London. We don’t have his phone yet; see if you can ping where it was last used. Frank, how’s the CCTV search going?’
‘Unfortunately, there aren’t many cameras when you get that far out of the city.’
‘Why don’t you track the cars coming and going. If the murderer was just dumping the body, you might see a car heading in that direction and maybe fifteen minutes later heading back. There must be something. The body didn’t get there by itself.’
‘Yes, guv.’
She admired the way Whitney handled Frank. Despite the number of years he’d been on the force, he often needed hand-holding.
‘Doug, do a background check on Diana Atkins and her alibi. I’ll text you the details.’
‘Okay,’ Doug said.
‘Once we’ve been to Dr Dexter, we’ll start putting together a profile.’
Whitney turned to George. ‘Are you okay to come with me to see Claire, or do you have to get back?’
Strictly speaking, she should go to work, but the temptation was too great. ‘I’m coming. I’d like to hear Claire’s findings.’
They left the station and made their way to the mortuary. It was newly built and adjacent to the hospital. As soon as they entered, they were hit by the cold, antiseptic smell so typical of places like that. They walked to the end of the corridor and pushed open the doors into the lab. To the right, in the small office area, Claire was sitting at her desk, peering through a pair of large, black-rimmed glasses at a computer screen. As usual, she was dressed in brightly coloured patterned trousers with an equally bright un-matching patterned shirt. She glanced up.
‘Good afternoon, ladies. We meet again.’
‘Afternoon, Claire,’ they both responded.
‘I’ve done my preliminary post-mortem and sent bloods to toxicology, but I wanted to let you know what I’d found,’ she said, a mysterious tone to her voice.
‘Can we see the body?’ George asked.
‘Come with me.’
Claire pulled on her white lab coat, which was hanging on a hook on the wall, and they all went to one of the stainless-steel tables where a body was stretched out, covered by a sheet. Claire lifted it off, revealing the victim. There was a Y-shaped incision on his chest where she’d done her work. George leaned in and took a good look, in particular where the dismemberment had taken place.
‘Fascinating. What do you think of the way the mutilation was carried out?’ she asked.
‘It appears the perpetrator had some experience of cutting flesh. That could be from animals or humans. If you look around the wound, there are no hesitation marks,’ Claire said.
‘So, this might not be their first victim?’ Whitney said.
‘It’s one explanation. And obviously something for you to investigate. But equally, it could be the perpetrator has a surgical background. Or maybe worked as a butcher. There are lots of occupations where the ability to use a knife is important. That’s your area of expertise, not mine. What I can tell you is the incisions were made by a right-handed person, most likely using a fillet knife, which has a flexible and robust blade, enabling it to easily cut under the skin.’
‘Anything else for us?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes. There were ligature marks on his wrists and ankles from where he’d been tied up with rope and struggled. There was also some soil under his fingernails which was a different colour from the soil where he was found. I’ve sent it for analysis, along with fibres from his hair and body, which I suspect are from a carpet. Cause of death was suffocation. He was moved to the scene post mortem, which we can tell from lividity and rigor. Time of death somewhere between six and ten on Thursday evening.’
‘Was he drugged?’ Whitney asked.
‘We won’t know until we get the report from toxicology. However, I did find a puncture wound in his leg which could be the result of being injected with a needle.’
‘Is that it?’ Whitney asked. ‘You could have told me all this on the phone.’
Claire turned to them with a smirk on her face. She was clearly enjoying this.
‘Of course that’s not it. I’m just getting to the good stuff. I checked the contents of his stomach and guess what was in there?’
‘His genitals?’ George asked.
Claire nodded. ‘And it gets even better.’
‘Better? What could get better than that?’ Whitney asked, giving a shudder.
‘They’d been cooked first,’ Claire said. ‘Fried in oil, I suspect.’
George rubbed her brow. Not only did they have someone cutting off the genitals of their victim, but they also cooked the parts and fed them to him. It took the crime to a whole new level. What did it mean?
‘Do you know whether he was force-fed?’ Whitney asked.
‘Difficult to tell,’ Claire said. ‘There was no sign of food around the outside of his mouth, or up his nose, or around his ears, as you would expect to see from someone turning their head to avoid being fed. But the meal was cut into small pieces so the perpetrator could have placed them into the victim’s mouth and forced him to swallow. Maybe threatening to kill him if he didn’t.’
‘So, he was likely sedated, then taken somewhere, tied up, mutilated, fed his own body parts, and finally suffocated. The suffocation appears an anti-climax,’ George said.
‘Yes, I see what you mean,’ Whitney said. ‘It’s like the murderer was building up to something and suddenly killed him. Why would they do that?’
‘As much as I find this intriguing, I’ve really got to get on. So, if you two can finish ruminating somewhere else, I’ll write my report, and as soon as I hear back from toxicology, I’ll let you know.’ Claire waved them off in her usual dismissive manner.
‘Before we go. What about the socks?’ Whitney asked.
‘I removed them and there was nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t know the meaning behind leaving them on. Unless it was a message. Though I’d have thought the mutilation was enough. Now will you go?’
‘Been good seeing you. We’ll catch-up soon.’ Whitney grinned in Claire’s direction.
‘Bye,’ George said.
They left the doctor and headed out of the lab.
‘She’s so funny. It’s a good job we know her and don’t take her attitude to heart. Still, she’s the best forensic pathologist in the country. We’re lucky to have her,’ Whitney said.
‘Agreed. She’s thorough. She’s fast. She’s insightful, and she always goes the extra mile. What else could we ask for?’ George said. ‘Where to now? The office?’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to go back to work?’ Whitney asked.
‘What is it with you? I’ve already said I’m fine. I’ve missed the lunch and sent my ap
ologies. I’ll come back to the station with you, and I may go back to the university later. But please stop asking. I can make up my own mind.’
Whitney held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘Okay. Okay. I’m only concerned you don’t get into trouble. Excuse me for caring.’
She could kick herself for not realising.
‘Sorry. I’m not used to people looking out for me.’
‘Well, get used to it. I owe you big time, and I’m always going to be here for you.’ Whitney gave George a hug.
‘Sometimes I wonder if it was better when we were at odds with one another. All this hugging stuff doesn’t sit right with me.’ She shifted awkwardly on the spot.
‘I’ll inject some emotion into you. You wait and see. In the meantime, let’s get back to the station and start solving this murder.’
Chapter Seven
Whitney scanned the incident room once they arrived back, having grabbed some sandwiches on the way, as they hadn’t had time to eat lunch. Matt had returned. Ellie was sitting at her computer. Frank and Sue were also looking at a computer screen, presumably at the CCTV, and Doug was standing by the board. The rest of the team would be out doing house-to-house enquiries, not that there were many houses in the area surrounding the waste ground. She thought the world of her team. Especially those currently in the room, who were her most trusted members. They’d stood by her when Jamieson wanted her removed from working the last big case. And thanks to them, and George of course, they’d solved the case, and she’d redeemed herself.
Not to mention they’d saved Tiffany’s life.
‘Stop what you’re doing. I want to tell you what we found out from Dr Dexter.’ She waited until she had their attention. ‘After removing the genitals, the murderer cooked and fed them to the victim.’ Whitney paused, waiting for the fact to sink in. She was greeted with a chorus of groans and vomit sounding noises.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me. What sick fuck would do that?’ Frank said. ‘It has to be the grossest thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘George is going to give us a rundown on what she thinks of the perpetrator, so far.’