by Helen Oliver
Side by side, they listened for footsteps. Liz took her cap off, put it under her arm, wiped sweat from her forehead. After a short wait Kate Fox opened the door and before Cally had time to speak, said, “Please, come in.”
Aware of Colin Fox at the end of the hallway, Cally said, “Mr and Mrs Fox, this is Family Liaison Officer, Police Constable Liz Armstrong.” She paused. “May we go into the living room?”
Mrs Fox, her mouth tight, said, “Of course,” and followed her husband, already making for his chair.
Cally said, “Please sit down, Mrs. Fox.”
Kate Fox looked as if she might remain standing, then changed her mind and sat on the end of the sofa nearest her husband. She clutched her knees. “You’ve found her?”
Mr Fox lifted a hand. “Just a minute, love.” He looked at Cally and Liz. “Please sit down.”
First glancing at Cally, Liz sat next to Mrs Fox on the sofa. Cally took the upright chair opposite Mr Fox and said, as gently as possible, “A female body has been found.” She paused. “Members of the Crime Investigation Team are on the site.”
Colin Fox said, “In the wood along the road?”
Liz raised her eyebrows. “You knew?”
Mrs Fox said, “There’s been a lot of activity. When was this?”
Cally said, “Late this morning.”
“My husband saw the police earlier on.”
Cally nodded. “A search was underway. Then a couple, after their dog began pawing the ground, discovered the body of a young woman.”
Head dropping forward, Colin Fox asked, “Our daughter?”
“That has to be confirmed, Mr Fox, but it’s likely this is Judi.”
Silent tears slid down Kate Fox’s face. Liz Armstrong rose from the sofa as Colin Fox struggled from his chair to be with his wife. Scraggy arms poking from a short-sleeved shirt, he held her with the little strength he had left. He looked across at Cally. “What happens next?”
“A formal identification, and a post-mortem.” Thinking of the probable state of the body, she said, “Identification can be confirmed without the presence of a family member.”
Kate moved her head from Colin’s shoulder. “Thank you.” She paused. “Might you have asked Zena?”
“Or Max,” said her husband. “We wouldn’t want that.”
Cally asked, “Max?”
Mrs Fox said, “Max Bailey, our son-in-law.”
Her husband explained. “There was unpleasantness in the past.”
Cally nodded. “I see.” She indicated Liz and said, “I know I introduced PC Armstrong when we arrived, but at times like this it can be hard to take everything in.” She stood up, moved to the PC’s side. “Liz is your personal Family Liaison Officer. She’s here for you; in person or at the end of the phone.”
“Any help you need,” Liz said, “anything you need to know, I’m your first port of call. I mean it when I say nothing’s too much trouble. So don’t hold back. And please call me Liz.”
Getting to her feet, voice faltering, Kate Fox, said, “Thank you.” Next moment her legs gave way and Liz Armstrong lifted her onto the sofa.
First waiting for Mrs Fox to get her breath back, Cally asked, “How do you both feel about telling Zena?”
Colin Fox swallowed hard. “I’ll tell her.”
Cally said, “May I suggest DCI Hammond goes with you?” She paused. “He ought to be here fairly soon.”
Mr Fox said, “If you think that’s best.”
Cally said, “Liz and I will stay with your wife while you’re gone.”
The old man nodded. “Thank you.”
*
Hammond pulled up, climbed out of the car and opened the boot. He unzipped a bag of sterile overalls, shook them out and pulled them on. A PC held up a metre of tape, said, “Sir,” and motioned him towards the tent where, inside and under lights, the young woman’s body still lay in the earth. The forensic team, like out-of-season snowmen, moved with care. Cameras clicked while samples of soil were saved and leaves were scraped aside. They talked and made notes, prior to a decision about removal of the body.
Rutter turned, approached Hammond. “Glad you could make it.”
Hammond said, “This has to be her?”
“I’d say no doubt.”
Hammond moved closer, looked down at the woman who, in weather warmer than usual for early summer, had lain under the earth for…? He turned to Rutter. “How long?”
“All things considered, and assuming this is Judi Fox, who we know was alive until the evening after Parsons’s death…” He shut his eyes for a moment. “Yes, it makes sense.” Looking at Hammond, he said, “Even if I didn’t know the time-line we’re reckoning on, I’d say around two weeks.”
“Okay.” Hammond paused. “So we could be looking at a double murder.”
“Not much of a grave,” Rutter said. “Asking to be discovered; amazing how many killers think a shallow grave means an end to their problems.”
“Hammond asked, “How would you do it?”
The pathologist squinted into the trees. “I’d start by giving it a great deal of thought.” He frowned. “Can’t say yet how this one died. Different from Parsons. Not obvious strangulation.”
“So not necessarily the same killer.” Hammond stepped aside while a camera recorded the grim scene from another angle. “Neil?”
“Yup?”
“Appreciate an early PM.”
“Do my best, mate.”
“Thanks.”
The same PC lifted the tape. Hammond climbed out of his overalls, clicked the remote and opened the boot. Folding the overalls, he reached for an evidence bag and pushed them inside. His phone vibrated. Digging it out, he read Cally’s text:
Can u pick up Colin Fox at Dunedin? Update Zena Bailey at Compton Place, Kirk Pulham.
Replied: Will do.
*
Colin Fox on his arm, Hammond rang the bell. He looked down at the frail old man. “Are you all right?”
“I think so.”
The door opened, and a woman of around thirty, eyes like green lichen, red hair to her shoulders, opened the door. Her father said, “Zena, love, this is Mr Hammond, a police detective.”
Fear crossed her face. “Oh, Dad,” she said, and leaned forward to help him over the step.
Hammond followed them onto the cool flagstones. Zena turned. “Do you mind the kitchen?” Arm in arm with Fox, she led the way and indicated a Windsor chair. “Sit down, Dad.”
He eased himself into the chair. “They’ve found a body, Zena.”
“Oh my God.” She pulled at a gold chain round her neck. “Judi?”
Hammond nodded slowly. “We think so.” He pulled out a chair for her. “I’m so very sorry.”
Zena sank down, looked at her father. “Where’s Mum?”
“At home with Detective Sergeant Burns, and…” He looked to Hammond, who added, “And PC Liz Armstrong, your police Family Liaison Officer. She’ll do everything she can to help at this difficult time.”
Zena asked, “…When did she die?”
“Probably two weeks ago.” Hammond glanced at Colin Fox. “Possibly the night before your parents left for Sussex.”
Zena looked at her father. “I read the article in the Post.”
Hammond said, “It must be hard for you, this kind of exposure. Don’t forget PC Armstrong is here to help you, too. And your husband, of course.”
She nodded. “He’s been in Hull for two days. He’ll be home tonight.”
Hammond straightened his shoulders. “Is there anything you’d like to ask?”
Tears ran down her face. “Like who do you think killed my sister?”
“I wish I had the answer.” Hammond paused, included her father. “Your parents have Liz Armstrong’s phone number.” He pulled out a ballpoint. “I can let you – ”
Colin Fox interrupted. “I’ve got it.”
Zena moved towards him. “Give me a minute to put some things together, Dad. I’ll d
rive you home and stay the night. I’ll stay for as long as you need me.” She turned to Hammond. “Are you going to ask me to identify Judi? I will if –”
Hammond stopped her. “There’s no need. We can do that.”
“But you don’t know her.”
“We’ll be able to tell.”
*
Four a.m. and Cally, her thoughts churning, lay awake. She slid out of bed, hoped she wouldn’t wake Greg, hoped he’d taken his meds. She crept downstairs, made a cup of tea and took it onto the patio. She hitched up her pyjamas, sank onto the garden seat. Drinking her tea she thought about April Parsons instructing her gardener to fetch the fiancée who’d decided not to marry him. She breathed in the scent of the night garden. Different, thankfully, from the night before last…
…when Greg had been in the garden moving rocks on the rockery: the rockery that was never going to look as if it belonged to a normal garden if he didn’t leave it alone. Depression had settled on Greg like a bespoke suit. Some days were worse than others. That day had begun badly. Rearranging the rockery at three a.m. until his hands bled must have seemed the only way to push the flashbacks into second place. Poor man. Poor all of them: the kids having to watch what they said. Lou too young to understand, Tom older than his years, Eileen, her mother’s heart refusing to break; and Cally making the most of a bad job.
The seat began to feel cold. Dawn crawled up from the horizon, and her thoughts about April Parsons, Russell Sykes and Judi Fox buzzed in her head. Sound of a gunshot, then another; a dog barked; Cally pictured it picking up the kill. Indoors, she closed the French doors, slipped upstairs and paused on the landing for a second when Lou coughed in her sleep.
37
Having exchanged thoughts with Kerridge, Hammond was last to leave the Briefing Room. Back in the office he saved his screen and looked up as Cally breezed in, complete with two coffees. “Morning, Steve. Sorry I’m late.” She was good at not looking tired, but he read the signs. Bright smile, tell-tale shadows under the grey-blue eyes. “Have I missed much?”
He leaned back. “You okay?”
“Fine, thank you.” She put a mug on Hammond’s desk. “Any news of the PM?”
“This morning.”
Cally heaved a sigh. “Thank God for that.” She paused. “Where are we at?”
Hammond drew the coffee towards him. “Top priority, establishing whether we’re looking for one killer or two.” He opened a new document on his computer, keyed in Tables. Three columns: Parsons, Fox, Sykes. Cally brought her mug over, sat beside him. He turned to her. “Similarities?”
“Well – the women were complementary therapists, each in their own field,” said Cally, “though Parsons was more experienced than Fox.” Hammond typed, and she added. “Both formed a friendship with Sykes, both knew him intimately: Fox as his fiancé, Parsons as a lover. Neither, as far as we know, at the time of their deaths.” She paused. “Both dumped him. Did he hate and/or despise either or both? Enough to kill one or both?”
Hammond frowned. “Both victims had a lot in common, but the MOs are different. Parsons was strangled. Fox, according to Neil, probably wasn’t.” He paused. “We should know more about her after the PM.”
Cally said, “Parsons’s friendship with Bloom was close, going back several years. Kate and Colin Fox knew of Parsons through Judi.
Hammond moved into the third column. “The Foxes knew Sykes on two counts: as their gardener and their daughter’s fiancé.”
Cally rubbed an eye. “The discovery of Judi’s body won’t necessarily send Sykes hurrying home to Mum. Possibly the opposite. Send him deeper to ground.”
Hammond said, “If Sykes didn’t kill Judi, would he come back to prove it?”
Cally shook her head. “Perhaps he doesn’t think he can prove it. If he killed Parsons, he’ll think we assume he killed Fox too.”
Hammond frowned. “We should be further on than this. From our viewpoint Sykes is the missing link; precisely because he’s missing. Find him and we’ll earn Brownie points.” He took a determined breath. “Next move, TV. Get viewers involved.” He paused. “Anne Morris. Organise an appeal.”
“All well and good,” said Cally, “but she won’t be able to say ‘don’t worry, son, you’re not in any trouble. Darling Boy could be a serial killer.”
“Give it a day before we set the ball rolling.”
“Have we got a day?” she asked.
“See what the PM throws up.”
Cally’s eyes met Hammond’s. “For example,” she said, “Fox being pregnant?”
Hammond nodded, but changed tack. “How was Liz Armstrong? With the parents, I mean.”
“Good.”
“She’ll need to be.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking the night off.”
Cally affected shock. “You’re what?”
“I know, hardly credible.” He paused. “Not exactly a treat.” He pushed his hands through his hair. “I’m taking Jan out to dinner.”
“Ok-ay?”
“If I can’t get to ‘The Tempest’ it’s the least I can do. We need a catch-up on Dan. She’ll be more up-to-date than me.” He paused. “You know what they say, 'a man’s best friend is his mother'.” His email pinged. “Who do we know in Witney?”
“No idea,” said Cally. “Where is it?”
“Apparently not far from Oxford. Slightly north.” His eyebrows shot up. “Christ on a bicycle!”
“What?”
“Thames Valley have found the luggage.”
“The luggage?”
“At a travelling fair.” Hitting Reply, he said, “Nolan can drive down for it. City of dreaming spires. Morse and all that. Better send another DC with him; see what they can dig out between them.”
*
The waiter poured the wine. Red for them both. Hammond waited for him to move away, raised his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers, Steve.”
Hammond picked up his copy of the menu. “My treat. What would you like?”
She eyed the choice. “Are you having a starter?”
He shrugged off his linen jacket. “Absolutely.”
The waiter appeared at his elbow. “Let me take that for you, sir.”
“Thank you.” He eyed Jan in her yellow sundress. Dark shiny hair, neat bob. Make-up perfect.
“I wonder” she said, “if the gazpacho’s any good.”
“I would think it’s very good.” His eye moved across the page to table d’hote. “I can’t remember ever being disappointed.”
She nodded. “I’ll have the gazpacho. Then sea bass with fennel.” She eyed the wine-list. “And a glass of sauvignon blanc, large, with my fish.” Putting the menu down, she said, “I’m glad the place isn’t full,” then, straight-faced, added, “Do you come here often?” Jan was rarely funny.
“Now and again.”
“I just wondered,” she said, and looked around at the exposed brickwork and, for them, a comfortable corner for two.
When Hammond had ordered, she leaned back against the buttoned banquette. “Is there someone, Steve? I know Dan invited you to bring a ‘plus one’ to the play.”
His chest tightened at the thought of what it would feel like to be here with someone whose hair needed tucking behind one ear, and who’d be hoping everything was all right at home. “No one at the moment.”
They chatted. Mostly about Dan, until, “Thinking of The Tempest,” she said, “I’m surprised you found time to come out tonight.”
He took a mouthful of wine. “Harrogate’s a far cry from Bristol.” He set his glass down. “I’m doubly busy at the moment.”
“The murder, I suppose. That poor woman.”
He said, quietly, “It doesn’t get any better.”
Her mouth formed an O. “Another?”
He nodded, passed her the bread basket. She chose a piece of crusty white. “When – ?” She stopped as a long-legged waitress placed bowls of gazpacho in front of them. Teeth pearly white, th
e girl smiled. “Perfect for a warm night. Enjoy.”
Hammond returned her smile. “Thanks.” He picked up his spoon, looked across at Jan. “She was found on Monday,” he said. He knew she wouldn’t want details. She didn’t read detective fiction or watch police dramas. She should never have married a police officer. “How’s the fashion world?” he asked.
She took a spoonful of the chilled soup. “This is good.”
“I thought it would be.”
She laid her spoon down. “The fashion world isn’t what it was. Anyway, not mine.”
Hammond was sorry. Jan was his son’s mother and she worked hard. “What do you put that down to?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Well, I do actually. I should have stuck to the upper end of the trade.” She frowned. “Part of my trouble’s been stocking too much for my old faithfuls. They’re not as flushed as they were.”
Thirty minutes later, nodding approval over her sea bass, Jan watched Hammond cut into his steak. “Is that how you like it?”
“Perfect.” Pouring himself a second glass of red, he said, “You’re bringing someone to ‘The Tempest’?”
“Geoffrey Beacham.”
“Tractors?” he asked, wondering if this was the Geoffrey Beacham. In which case Jan’s money worries might not be serious.
She nodded, looked at him over her glass. “He’s nothing to do with his brother, you know.”
“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
She fingered the dessert menu. “It crosses everyone else’s.”
“You don’t want to listen to what people say.” He paused. “Are you having a pud?”
“Are you?”
“I’ll have cheese.”
“Then I’ll have the semi-freddo.”
Hammond looked towards the pretty waitress, lifted the menu. She hurried over and he gave their order. “My friend will have the semi-freddo. I’ll have some cheese.”
The girl made a note and swung along to the kitchen. Watching her, Jan said, “I’m still your friend, then?”
For a moment, thinking she was about to touch his hand, Hammond reached quickly for his glass. “Of course.”
“Dan’s disappointed, you know, that you can’t come. Your opinion matters.”