Ruthless Crimes

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Gwen and her boss decided to interview the warden while they waited for the forensic team to arrive. Bella Fisher had calmed down somewhat, although her shoulders still shuddered regularly.

  ‘The woman fooled me totally,’ she said. ‘I was completely taken in. She spoke and acted like a nurse and her uniform was perfect. If only I’d suspected something, I’d have phoned the clinic to check up on her. This might not have happened.’

  Gwen grimaced. ‘Oh, but it would have. Once she was inside, what happened was inevitable, except that you’d have been added to the casualty list, either dead, injured or left locked in a cupboard. Don’t beat yourself up about it. That woman was a killer and you’d have come off second best if you’d tried to stand in her way.’

  ‘We’ve checked with the clinic,’ Jack added. ‘There’s no nurse Charmaine Cookson. So we need a good description from you, whatever you can remember.’

  Bella slowly shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It’s all a bit blurred and I can’t think straight. I suppose she was about my height, about five foot five.’ She closed her eyes. ‘She had very dark hair, in a bob. She had quite a lot of make-up on, especially round the eyes, and that’s not common in the nurses we see. I think her eyes were blue.’

  ‘Did she have a coat on?’ Gwen asked.

  Bella opened her eyes suddenly. ‘No. I’ve just realised. And it was quite chilly this morning.’

  Gwen turned to Jack Dunning. ‘Maybe she came in a car parked nearby?’

  He nodded. ‘We can check for any CCTV in the vicinity. Anything else you remember about her, Bella? The way she spoke, maybe?’

  ‘Oh, it was a fairly posh voice. Sort of correct, like. And she knew it was Louise’s birthday tomorrow. That’s what she brought the cakes for.’

  ‘Useful. And she knew Louise had a dressing on an injury? Where was that, by the way?’

  ‘She had quite a bad cut on her right leg, just near her knee. She couldn’t bend her leg easily, which is why she struggled with the stairs. To be honest, I didn’t know she was due for a dressing change. She was only admitted on Saturday and had a fresh dressing on then.’

  ‘What was her reason for being here? Did she fit your normal pattern? A victim of domestic violence?’

  Bella shook her head again. ‘I don’t know. We’re run by a charity and we get money from all kinds of people and places. One of the trustees rang me on Saturday afternoon and asked if we had a spare bed for a woman in an emergency. I said we did — someone had left that day. But we had a waiting list and we’d already earmarked her room for the next person. But the woman pulled rank on me and told me that if we housed Louise for a few days, we’d get a big grant coming in. I was left with no choice but to take her. We’re really scraping the barrel for cash at the moment.’

  ‘Who was it who called you with the request?’

  ‘Cleo Cathcart. She’s one of the people who helped set this place up. I didn’t dare turn her down. God knows what would happen to our funding. Most of it comes in because of her efforts.’

  That was the extent of the warden’s recollections. The detectives left contact details with her in case she remembered more, and then left.

  ‘The women in here are usually penniless, boss. If they get killed or assaulted, it’s by paranoid ex-partners who are usually paralytic, lose their rag and lash out. This is as far from that pattern as it’s possible to get.’

  ‘Agreed. It’s not just a question of tracing the killer to find out why she did it, but also of finding out why anyone would go to these lengths to kill someone who, on the face of it, wouldn’t normally generate that level of interest. I mean, who was she really, our Louise? We need to find out.’

  ‘That back story makes me uneasy,’ Gwen said. ‘Why was she brought here? From what the warden said, it looks like procedures were conveniently ignored. And then this happens.’

  Getting into his car, Jack said, ‘There’s something very fishy about the whole thing. Let’s set up the incident room and get busy.’

  Gwen noticed that he looked worried, which was rare for her boss. Jack Dunning was well known across the region for his cool, calm approach to investigating serious crime. She was about to return to her own car but stopped.

  ‘Is there something you’re not telling me, boss?’ she asked.

  He remained silent for a few moments, examining his hands. ‘Cleo Cathcart,’ he finally said. ‘She’s the wife of Gus Cathcart.’

  Gwen looked blank. ‘Who?’

  ‘Before your time. He held the rank of DCI in West Sussex. Nominally Special Branch but he had fingers in lots of security pies. They live on Hayling Island, moved there when he retired about six years ago.’ He paused. ‘I don’t like him. Not one bit.’

  * * *

  Jack Dunning was one of the most well-regarded detectives in the Hampshire force. It was something of a puzzle to members of his team as to why he’d taken so long to progress to his current rank, but he’d once shared the reason for his reticence with Gwen.

  ‘There’s too much politics in the senior ranks,’ he’d said. ‘I want to stick with what I can cope with and am happy doing. Look at some of the people above us, they’re all looking over their shoulders, wondering where the next stab in the back is going to come from. It’s just not for me.’

  Gwen recalled these words as she checked procedures back in the local police station, where an incident room was being set up. Notices were being pinned to a whiteboard setting out areas of investigation and lines of responsibility. Photos taken at the crime scene were added, as were some of the initial forensic assessments. It was all go, part of a system Jack had set up several years ago.

  She realised that Jack had appeared at her shoulder. ‘It’s all good, boss.’

  He smiled. ‘Sophie Allen and I put this approach together after we attended a joint planning course about five years ago. I’ve added a few new touches, and she probably has too, across in Dorset. But it works. Well, let’s just say it’s worked up to now.’

  ‘Barry seems happy enough with it.’

  Jack looked puzzled.

  ‘Come on, boss. Surely you haven’t forgotten. My fiancé? He’s a DI now, second in her unit.’

  He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. ‘Of course. A temporary lapse. I think I need a holiday.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, you’re not going to get one now, are you? Not with this going on. What’s first on the agenda?’

  ‘We’ll get across to Hayling Island and speak to Cleo Cathcart. Finish your coffee. I could do with a good slug of scotch myself, to prepare, but unfortunately that’s a no-no.’

  ‘Is it going to be that bad?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘You have no idea. Let’s hope the great man is out playing golf or something. We might get somewhere if it’s just her. With a bit of luck and a following wind.’

  Chapter 9: No Need to Get Bullish

  On a chilly autumn day, Hayling Island appears to be a relatively quiet backwater. Outside the peak summer months, the road bridge from Havant was free of heavy traffic, and the two detectives pulled up outside the Cathcart’s luxury villa within forty minutes of leaving the incident room in Southampton.

  Gwen stood back and took a look at the house. It was of a modern design, beautifully maintained with an attractive, landscaped garden full of neat shrubs. A large upstairs balcony would give a panoramic view across the grassy dunes to the sea. Gwen could imagine evening barbecues up there, with chilled wine at sunset. Glorious. With a sigh, she followed her boss to the front entrance.

  The woman who opened the door was tall and slender, her pale-blonde hair perfectly cut. She was elegantly dressed in expensive looking, slim-cut trousers and a cashmere jumper. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, but Gwen knew how deceptive looks could be. There were no obvious signs of cosmetic surgery but . . . The woman blinked when she saw Jack Dunning, evidently puzzled. Gwen smiled to herself. She’s recognised him but can’t think who he is.

&nb
sp; ‘Mrs Cathcart. Sorry to disturb you. It’s DCI Jack Dunning from Hampshire police. This is DS Gwen Davis. Can we come in for a brief chat with you, please?’

  The woman smiled. ‘Of course. It’s nice to see you again.’

  They followed her into a spacious lounge. ‘Please call me Cleo. We have met before, after all. Can I get you a coffee? Tea?’

  ‘That would be good. Tea, please,’ Jack said.

  Gwen indicated with a nod that she would have the same. She and her boss had agreed a strategy on their way here. He’d take the lead and she would only jump in if she thought he’d missed something. She looked around. There was artwork on the walls but no family photos on display. A newspaper and two magazines lay neatly stacked on a low table. There was not a single item out of place. The room looked like an illustration for an interior design magazine.

  The woman returned, carrying a tray of delicate, expensive looking chinaware. Gwen, who came from a working-class family in Cardiff, was beginning to feel on edge. She was glad her boss would be taking the lead. He was good at tailoring his approach to suit the situation.

  ‘Now, what’s this about? Gus is playing golf and won’t be back until later.’

  ‘That’s not a problem, Mrs Cathcart. It’s you we’ve come to see. I understand you’re one of the trustees of the Beechwood Women’s Refuge in Southampton?’

  ‘Yes, I am. One has to do one’s bit for the less fortunate. Why?’

  ‘We’ve spent the last couple of hours there. One of the inmates was found dead at about noon. The death is extremely suspicious.’

  Cleo frowned. ‘That’s tragic. But what does it have to do with me, Jack? I’m a trustee, involved only with funding matters. I leave the day-to-day running of the place to the employed staff. Are you saying there’s been a security breach or some kind of financial problem?’

  Jack didn’t answer her question. ‘The dead woman is Louise Bennett. I understand you pulled a few strings to get her in. At the weekend, I think. Is that correct?’

  Cleo put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, my goodness.’

  ‘Why did you ask for the rules to be bent to get her admitted, Mrs Cathcart?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t aware of that, to be honest.’

  Her voice was weak and shaky. Gwen sensed rising panic.

  ‘My understanding, from talking to the warden, is that there’s a waiting list. And I believe you asked her to bypass it to get Louise in. Can you tell me why you did that?’

  Cleo took a sip of tea, her hand shaking visibly. She put the cup down hastily. ‘She needed somewhere safe to go in a hurry. Look, I admit I used some leverage to get her admitted. But she was in danger.’

  ‘Who from?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Well, as far as I know, the usual. Some ape of a man who was after her.’

  ‘Did Louise tell you this herself?’

  ‘I didn’t actually meet her. I was acting on behalf of someone else. Did some drunken lout find her, then? Despite what we did?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. It wasn’t some crazed ex-husband or boyfriend who killed her. It was a woman. Louise was stabbed through the heart in cold blood and it looks as if it was carefully planned. So, who were you acting for? Who asked for her to be admitted?’

  They were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Gwen looked up to see a burly, grizzly man come into the room.

  ‘What’s all this?’ he asked. He looked at the two detectives, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘We’re talking to your wife about a serious incident at the hostel in Southampton, Gus. An inmate was murdered there this morning,’ Jack said.

  ‘Well, I don’t want her interviewed without me or a lawyer being present. Is that clear?’ the man snarled.

  ‘This isn’t a formal interview, Gus,’ Jack said. ‘There’s no need to get bullish about it. We just need to clarify why the victim’s admission was fast-tracked and normal procedures circumvented.’

  ‘Piss off, Dunning. You come into my house only at my invitation. I’m not some bit of skanky lowlife you can push around, you know. Who do you think you’re dealing with here? Show some respect. Now, get out.’

  Gwen decided it was time for to intervene. ‘I can carry out the interview, sir, if you’d both prefer, at a time and place of Mrs Cathcart’s choosing. Either here or at the local station.’ She passed her contact card to Cleo, who was looking even more shell-shocked than before.

  Cathcart’s gaze swivelled around to settle on Gwen, as if he’d spotted her for the first time. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘DS Gwen Davis. Hampshire police.’

  ‘Well you can piss off too, DS Gwen Davis. Who the hell asked you to speak? Just get out, both of you.’

  Gwen glanced at her boss, who signalled to her that it was better for them to leave. She deliberately took her time to finish her cup of tea. ‘That was very nice, Mrs Cathcart. Thank you. Very refreshing.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ Gwen asked as they returned to their car.

  Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t know. He was far worse than I expected. I never liked the man, as I said earlier, but that really was beyond a joke. He acted as if we were accusing Cleo of a crime.’

  ‘What if that’s what we were doing?’

  Jack turned to face her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We came to see her to find out why she’d bent the rules to get Louise admitted. What if the reason is connected to something shady? What if it wasn’t her at all? What if it was him who was somehow behind Louise’s admission? I watched him from the moment he came in. I tell you, he knew something. She was genuinely puzzled when we questioned her, but he didn’t seem particularly surprised. It made me suspicious. His bluster was just an attempt to put us off. That’s why I gave her my card. I’ve a feeling she’ll contact me.’ She started the engine.

  ‘Isn’t that a bit fanciful? He’s got an aggressive streak, that’s all.’

  ‘Trust me, boss. There’s something not right back there. I think she’ll phone.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re right. I don’t particularly relish the thought of going back again if it’s only going to end up in another confrontation.’ He smiled. ‘But it was rather satisfying to see him getting so wound up. As I said earlier, I could never stand the man.’

  ‘Well, leave it with me. If there’s dirt, I’ll find it. Then we can wind him up some more. What an insulting bastard. No man speaks to me in that arrogant, rude, patronising way and gets away with it. It was the way he looked at me, as if I counted for nothing in his eyes.’

  ‘You have my blessing.’

  ‘What makes you think I need it?’

  They both laughed.

  * * *

  Gwen was home late that evening. She’d received a brief phone call from Cleo Cathcart just as she was about to leave. Cleo confirmed that her husband had wanted to move Louise somewhere safe but hadn’t told her the reason. Barry’s car was already on the drive and as Gwen stepped into the hallway, the aroma of warm cheese and tomato reached her. She walked through to the kitchen where Barry was setting cutlery on the table.

  ‘I’ve made a quick pasta bake,’ he said, looking up. ‘It’s just gone in the oven, so it’ll take about twenty minutes. Do you want a drink?’

  She gave him a hug. ‘A cup of tea would be brilliant. Have you been in long?’

  He shook his head. ‘About half an hour. Has something cropped up at work?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She told him of the unusual murder case, then realised he was looking at her in a strange way. ‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘You need to sit down,’ he said. ‘I’ll pour our teas then tell you something really interesting.’

  Chapter 10: Complete Slug

  Wednesday morning

  ‘Have you ever come across Gus Cathcart?’ Jack Dunning stirred his coffee and took a sip. It was very good. Maybe he should visit this café more often. It was less than ten minutes’ walk from the CID offices. He knew he
wouldn’t though, certainly not on a regular basis. He was always too pushed for time. He was only here this morning for an off-the-record meeting with Sophie Allen.

  She grimaced. ‘Oh, yes. I slapped his face once, right in front of his own chief constable. I know some men can get a bit frisky when they’ve had a couple of drinks, and I can usually fend them off and stay on friendly terms with them afterwards. But he was something else entirely. His hands were all over my backside, squeezing, and I can’t repeat the stuff he was whispering into my ear. We were in the queue for the buffet at a police charity reception. What he didn’t realise was that his chief and deputy were behind us. Even I was only dimly aware of them approaching. I snapped when he started licking the back of my neck. I turned around and hit him as hard as I could. The whole place suddenly went silent. He walked away with this big red weal on his face. I didn’t see him again that evening. He must have left immediately afterwards. In fact, I haven’t seen him again, ever.’

  ‘When was this?’ Jack asked.

  Sophie shrugged and took a sip from her own mug. ‘About three months before he retired. I’d just landed the DCI job in Dorset but hadn’t yet started. I spent a few days in Sussex with their unit, studying their methods. The ACC invited me to their Christmas charity function at the end of my visit. I have no idea what was going through Cathcart’s head, but he’d been pestering me for the previous hour or more and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I could only think he imagined I was a low-ranking bit of fluff invited along to keep the likes of him amused. He was a total tosspot. I got an apology from the chief who’d seen what he was doing.’ She took another sip of coffee. ‘Look, Jack, I’ve never told anyone about it and Martin must never know. Don’t even mention it to Gwen, please.’

  ‘Of course not. Cathcart married Cleo just after he retired, when his divorce papers came through. Apparently, he used to show her off at social events, even when he was supposedly still happily married to his previous wife.’

  ‘Like I said, he’s a complete slug. I don’t expect he ever wants to see me again. I heard through the grapevine that it was his behaviour that night that helped to make the chief’s mind up about pensioning him off,’ Sophie said.