* * *
Sophie and Barry drove back to the city centre. ‘What do you think, Barry?’ she said.
‘It could be whoever whacked Hattie. Then again, there could be any number of other reasons why someone might be hurrying up those steps. As for who it was, if she was right about the height then it rules out Markham and Murey. They’re both tall and would have dwarfed her. So that leaves Maria and Hattie’s boyfriend, Matt Brindle. But we’ve ruled him out, haven’t we?’
‘Not entirely. We still need to speak to this Sally person he claims he spent the night with. He could have come back to Exeter by car and got here in time. We know he didn’t get home until the next morning but until we get direct corroboration for his alibi, he’s still in the frame. I was hoping to speak to her by phone last night but I couldn’t get through.’
Marsh was quiet for a few moments. ‘Tell you what, ma’am. Why don’t I go to Reading right now? There’s a fast train service from St David’s. With a bit of luck I could be there by late morning.’
‘That would certainly speed things up. Okay, but we’ll give her mobile another call to check she actually exists and will be there. And be extra careful. Matt will have had plenty of time to prime her with a suitable story. You’ll need to probe a bit.’
They were in luck. A fast train to London Paddington was due from Penzance in ten minutes, with Reading as its first stop. Sophie returned to the quayside, where the rain had settled to a thin drizzle. On the way she stopped at a nearby coffee shop and bought half a dozen takeaway coffees and some fruit biscuits.
The diving support crew were thankful for a hot drink and something to eat. Sophie peered into the murky water, trying to spot a movement. Just after the last biscuit had been eaten, the rope was tugged three times, and the attendant started drawing in the line. Slowly the divers reappeared. One of them had a squelchy mass covered in green slime slung around his waist in a net bag.
The forensic team slowly teased the object free of its weed and mud coating, to reveal a sodden, sandy-coloured, knitted bag. Hattie’s? It could be. Sophie watched a forensic officer open it and tip the contents into evidence bags. There it was. A deep red mobile phone. Sophie caught the eye of the officer and smiled. She hurried back to the café and bought another tray of coffee for the divers, and thick chocolate biscuits. It was the least she could do.
Sophie drew a half bottle from her shoulder bag. ‘Anyone want a slug of scotch in their coffee?’
She wasn’t short of takers.
* * *
‘CCTV’s a wonderful thing, ma’am, but it takes forever to work through all the recordings. At least what that girl saw on the steps helps narrow it down a bit.’
‘And? You’re stringing me along, Rae. You’re picking up bad habits from the local squad. Just tell me what you’ve found.’
‘We may have something. There’s a camera near the quayside, on the outside wall of one of the bars. At first we didn’t think it showed anything, but I took another look.’
Rae started the sequence. The image was dim but some lights could be seen further down the quayside.
‘Is that the pizza place?’ Sophie asked.
‘Yes. Now look just past it.’
Sophie could just make out someone walking past the restaurant and disappearing into the darkness beyond. Then she seemed to see another slight movement, and a figure flitted across the corner of the picture, heading quickly away from the waterside.
‘That’s just where those steps would finally reach the quay,’ Rae said. ‘And look at the time. Five past twelve. I think that might just show Hattie being assaulted and pushed into the water, then the assailant running for the steps.’
Sophie smiled. ‘So if we get forensics to do some measurements of the distances and the height of those buildings, it should give us an idea of the height of that shadowy figure? That’s great, really. Well done, Rae.’
* * *
Barry phoned from Reading at lunchtime. He’d managed to interview Sally Pullman, and she’d confirmed Brindle’s story.
‘I’ve got her statement and I think we can trust her, ma’am,’ he said. ‘She seems to be a pretty honest sort of person. And why would she lie? What would she gain from it?’
Sophie agreed with him. ‘Can you come back now? Phone when you’re almost here and I’ll pick you up from the station. Things are moving quickly, by the way. We might have a witness, we’ve got some useful CCTV and Hattie’s bag and phone have just been pulled out of the water. The weather might be foul but it’s been a good day for us so far.’
The forensic team had managed to get some data from the cheap black phone found in the water on the previous day. Its last contact had been a text message sent at midnight on Saturday.
‘That’s to Harriet’s phone,’ Sophie commented. ‘Look at the number.’ She turned to the technical chief. ‘What’s holding up those people at the phone company? Why haven’t we been able to see the content yet?’
‘It’s coming, ma’am. We were promised access to her log by this afternoon. There’s still a while to go.’
‘Well, it had better be here by two or they’ll get a mouthful from me.’ Sophie took hold of Rae’s arm. ‘Come on, Rae. Grab your waterproofs. We’ve got time to interview some of my favourite people, those nosey neighbours.’ She looked out of the window. ‘Bloody Devon weather. I bet it’s not raining like this in Dorset.’
In fact the rain was easing again, reducing its intensity once more to a fine drizzle. Sophie drove to a residential area south of the university campus and parked her car in a street covered in sodden, slimy leaves.
‘Is this the place?’ she asked.
Rae looked across at the building that housed Markham’s apartment. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, let’s get started. It’ll probably start bucketing again soon and I’d like to be back in a warm room with a hot coffee when it happens.’
Several neighbours had witnessed the short altercation between Markham and a young woman on Saturday morning, and they all agreed that the abuse had come from her. It seemed Markham had shown commendable restraint.
They returned to Sophie’s car and drove the short distance to the avenue where Professor Murey lived. They were in luck again.
An elderly man living across the road had been out in his front garden raking leaves from his lawn at the time in question, and had witnessed the ill-tempered exchange. He described the confrontation in some detail, including the fact that the scene had been witnessed by others.
‘It was, how shall I put it? Very undignified,’ he said. ‘That young woman ended up spitting at him before she left. I ask you. Is that any way to behave in public?’
The two detectives grabbed a quick lunch in a city centre café, then retraced young Lizzie’s footsteps late that Saturday night, timing sequences and matching them against the whereabouts of Professor Murey and his dog, as shown in the grainy CCTV images Rae had examined. These were taken from the few cameras in the vicinity of South Street, near the White Hart. It all fitted. All they needed now was corroborating evidence from Hattie’s phone. The pieces of the puzzle were finally beginning to fit together.
Chapter 36: Time to Go Home
‘What’s the verdict?’ Sophie asked. They were back in the forensic lab, standing with a small cluster of technicians grouped around one of the bench tops. The contents of Hattie’s shoulder bag lay spread out across it. Her phone had been opened up, the case resting on a layer of absorbent paper, a fan gently blowing warm air over its exposed circuitry.
‘You’re probably in luck,’ replied the chief. ‘It wasn’t a cheap bag. It had a PVC lining under the stitching and a good-quality zip. The stuff inside was damp but water had been seeping in only slowly. There was still air inside.’
‘How come it sank, then?’ Rae asked.
‘Money in her purse. It was weighed down with coins. Once we’re sure it’s dry we can charge it up and switch it on. It might be completely undamaged.’
<
br /> They were joined by Sue Wilding. She listened in silence to Sophie’s report on the morning’s developments.
‘Steve didn’t tell me any of this when I called him mid-morning,’ she grumbled.
‘It was only conjecture at that point,’ said Sophie. ‘That phone should have the midnight text message on it. And who knows what else we’ll find. It might turn out to be an Aladdin’s cave.’
It was another hour before the phone was dry. The technicians clustered around the bench with bated breath while the phone was plugged in and powered up. It beeped at them, just as a normal phone would, then showed them its home-screen of icons, with a photo of a laughing Harriet Imber, her long red hair blowing in the breeze.
‘Can we look at the contents first, then get it all downloaded somewhere for analysis? Would that be sensible?’ Sophie asked.
The forensic chief opened the log of text messages. The last one was received at 11:58 p.m. on Saturday.
‘That’s the one,’ Sophie said. ‘Let’s have a look.’
They read the words that led Hattie to her death. I have your money. I’m close by, at the quayside beyond the glassblowing workshop but I’ll only wait five minutes. Come alone.
‘Yes, that would have done it,’ Sophie whispered. ‘Let’s look at the photos now. Surely she’ll have taken some on her phone.’
In silence they looked at a series of several hundred images. Mixed in with the usual cluster of selfies taken with friends were the significant ones. The body of Mark Paterson, face down in the wild sea at Dancing Ledge, his blue jacket clearly identifying him. Several photos of someone resembling Paul Murey, face down on a bed, bound, gagged and blindfolded, with red weals across his buttocks. And, finally several photos that eliminated any notion that Harriet Imber had somehow been accidentally caught up in the events of the past year and so deserved some sympathy. Two of the photos showed the body of Edwina Davis, hanging from a noose in her home. Close up shots of the protruding tongue and distorted features.
‘She went in,’ Sophie whispered. ‘Either she was there when Edwina hanged herself or she went in afterwards just to take these photos. God, she might even have murdered the poor woman.’
‘Unbelievable,’ breathed Rae.
Sophie stared bleakly at the phone display. 'According to the university medical centre, she'd only just begun receiving treatment for schizophrenia. I wonder if it started months before, at about the time of Edwina's death. What other explanation is there for these photos?'
* * *
Barry arrived at St David’s station shortly afterwards. His cheerful greeting trailed away when he saw Sophie and Rae’s set faces. They told him of the photos on Hattie’s phone.
Barry shook his head. ‘So maybe whoever killed her did society a service. What do we do with this information now we have it? It’s confirmation for us, and it shows the powers that be that we were right to investigate her. But where do we go from here?’
‘It doesn’t appear that anyone else was involved in these deaths, just Hattie. I’ll have to present it all to the CPS and let them decide. Good luck to them. But I can’t see them taking the cases any further. What would be the point? The families of Eddie Davis and Mark Paterson will need to be told. In Eddie’s case, it’s likely that the coroner’s suicide verdict will be reversed, which will please her brother.’ Sophie stared at the ground. ‘What a complete and utter mess that girl created. I just can’t fathom what was going on her head, and now we’ll never know.’
‘Well, we’ve still got to nail whoever killed her,’ Barry said. ‘How’s that going?’
‘Sorted, Barry. We’re moving in twenty minutes. Well, not us. The local squad are doing it, but we’ve been invited along. What a wonderful thing CCTV is. Not only does it prove where people are, it also proves where they aren’t. We’ve got a sequence that shows Murey walking down South Street with his dog at the time Hattie was assaulted. He was nearby, but not near enough.’
‘So?’
‘Wake up, Barry. He was pretty close but not actually there. What does that imply?’
‘Ah.’
* * *
The leafy avenue was still covered with sticky leaves. A pale face appeared briefly at the front window and then vanished as the police vehicles disgorged their occupants.
DI Sue Wilding rang the bell and the woman opened the door immediately. Her face was white.
‘Did there have to be so many of you? Did you have to turn it into a circus?’
‘If it’s a circus, then you’re the ringmaster, Mrs Murey. The show started on Saturday night, when you broke that bottle over Harriet Imber’s head and left her for dead in the water. Now, let us in.’
Sophie looked at Sue Wilding with renewed interest. That was exactly the response that she would have made.
* * *
Sophie paid a visit to George Markham in his campus office and then walked to the residential block where Harriet Imber had lived. Maria listened to the account with tears streaming down her face.
Steve Gulliver and his team were going through Professor Paul Murey’s office, searching for further clues. Had he been involved? Sophie thought it likely, but there was no direct evidence against him. Traces of his wife’s DNA had just been found on the cheap phone salvaged from the water. Had she acted alone, in an attempt to save her husband’s reputation without his knowledge? Sophie thought it highly unlikely. Even if he hadn’t been at the actual scene of the assault he’d been in the vicinity. The incident bore all the hallmarks of a carefully staged attack. Paul Murey was the major beneficiary of Hattie’s death. At a single stroke all threat of blackmail had been eliminated. There was enough suspicion to justify a charge against him as well as his wife. It would then be up to a jury to decide. Maybe the search of the Murey house would show that Fiona Murey knew of her husband’s masochism. She might well have been involved herself. After all, Hattie’s threats put his career in danger, not his marriage.
Sophie returned to the CID car park, where Barry and Rae were waiting, leaning against a wall, enjoying a brief break in the clouds.
‘You know, I’ve suddenly had a thought. We haven’t yet seen the younger brother. What’s his name? Richard? Didn’t Mary Imber say she didn’t want us to contact him directly and she’d make the arrangements herself?’
‘That’s right, she did,’ Barry replied. ‘Another odd bit of behaviour. I told her we’d keep it low key, but she seemed uneasy. I was only trying to save her more worry.’
‘We’ll need to follow it up tomorrow,’ Sophie said. ‘Time to go home.’
Chapter 37: Childhood Truths
Sophie woke with a start. It was pitch dark and the only sound was Martin’s breathing. She listened intently, but there was no other sound, not even an owl hooting or a fox crying. What had made her wake up so suddenly? Had she been dreaming? All she could remember was something involving Mary Imber. Strange. Why would she be dreaming about that odd woman, with her cold, belligerent attitude? Something about Mary Imber struck her as false. That must be it. The woman was a puzzle, and Sophie realised she’d been uneasy about her ever since they’d first met. It was as if she were living on an emotional high wire and any false move, however slight, would cause her to fall. Sophie wondered if Hattie was the cause of that tension. Then another thought struck her, and kept her awake for another hour.
* * *
Yesterday evening Sophie had told her two assistants that they could have a late start, considering the long hours they’d put into this case. After all, Hattie’s murder had been solved and the circumstances surrounding the deaths of Mark Paterson and Eddie Davis had been largely resolved. All that remained was the paperwork and administration. Wasn’t it?
Barry and Rae arrived in the office at about the same time, shortly before ten o’clock, to find their boss in her office with the door closed and the blinds partly down. They could see her talking on the phone. Sophie waved vaguely in their direction.
‘Is she up to s
omething?’ Rae asked.
Barry shrugged. ‘Looks like it. And judging from the stuff on her desk, she’s been up to it for a couple of hours at least. She’ll call us in when she’s good and ready.’
They sat at their desks and discussed the report they’d be working on. It was a good ten minutes before the inner door opened and Sophie appeared. She was clearly very animated.
‘That bloody woman isn’t Hattie’s birth mother,’ she announced. ‘She was the father’s second wife and they married just before Hattie’s second birthday. Hattie’s mother died in childbirth. The boy, Richard, is Hattie’s half-brother. He really is her child. Did you pick up on any of this during that drive on Sunday morning, Barry?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Like I said at the time, she hardly said a word. Maybe that explains her attitude.’
‘Well, it makes it even more imperative that we visit the brother and get his take on things. Could one of you phone his school, check if he’s in today and if he is there, push hard for us to visit this afternoon? I doubt he’ll remember anything from the time when Hattie was abused, he’d have been too young. But he could provide an insight if we ask the right questions in the right way. Okay?’
* * *
They drove up the broad, gravel driveway to the front entrance of the school building. Barry’s feelings of resentment resurfaced. He didn’t have a problem with the rich having material goods and luxury items, but this was something else entirely. How could most of the youngsters coming to a private school like this ever understand what it meant not to know where the next meal or the money for the next rent instalment was going to come from? He sighed and shook his head.
Sophie steered into the car park. ‘I can guess what you’re thinking, Barry. I met a lot of people from this kind of background when I was at Oxford. Most of them are perfectly nice people, but they’ve never had to face any real hardship, even if they’re not as arrogant as they seem. Those Hooray-Henry types are just a small, nasty minority. They suffer the same emotional pressures as the rest of us. Marriage breakdowns, family bust-ups and all the rest are as common at the top of society as at the bottom. Half of these kids will be miserable here. I couldn’t have faced sending my two to a boarding school for months at a time, even if we could have afforded it. And Martin and I both saw the effect it had on some of our friends at university. We saw too many cases where people sent to places like this were haunted by it, even into their twenties.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Time to go. He should be waiting in reception.’
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