by Kim Knight
“I ran a further search on the property, no one has been registered as a tenant there since a month before Tony’s death,” McDonald stated.
“So, it’s been empty for four months?”
“Right, but someone must have had access to that property, to place the evidence there. Tony turned up dead three months ago, while his family contested his will arrangements. Up to this point, someone had access. They had to.” McDonald took a seat opposite Dunne.
“Yep, no forced access at all. Chelsea’s the legal owner.” Dunne kicked his feet back up on his desk. “No prints on the notes or the weapon either.”
McDonald shook his head. “Looks like the family were right about Chelsea. She was careful not to leave prints.”
Dunne considered the possibility, based on the events of the last seventy-two hours so far.
“She couldn’t have acted alone. Someone knew what she was up to, for sure—even lead us to the murder weapon.” He paused a moment to think. “She’s a small girl. There’s no way she could’ve dumped his body on the common single handily. Then there’s Lance’s story.”
“Sounds about right. We better get over to her place and see what’s up.” McDonald rose to his feet. “We might want to secure another warrant just so we’re covered and can enter.”
“Right,” Dunne agreed, then snatched up the phone.
21
Bitter Feelings
Sandip
Later that evening, Sandip let himself into his childhood home.
“Mum, Mum are you home?”
“I’m here, love, in the kitchen,” Manisha called out.
Sandip made his way down the hallway following his mother’s voice. “There you are, what ya up to?” He entered the kitchen.
Manisha turned toward him, covered in flour. “Just baking some bread. Nothing special.”
“Oh, nice, good timing then.” Sandip chuckled, then bent down to kiss Manisha’s cheek.
He adored his mother’s cooking. The traditional Indian-Asian dishes he grew up on were his favourite.
“How are you? How’s things goin’?” He took a seat at the kitchen table.
“Same as usual, love. Just trying to survive,” Manisha called over a shoulder. She looked her son, took in his slender frame, dark eyes, coffee-coloured skin, full beard, and his rounded, trendy glasses.
“Detective Dunne and McDonald called around yesterday,” Manisha announced.
Sandip’s gaze moved over to his mother, kneading the bread dough. “Oh, yeah, what did they want?”
“Apparently, they have suspicions about that floosy your father was seeing. They’ve reopened his case.”
Sandip smiled from ear to ear, then quickly fixed his face when Manisha turned to face him.
“Seriously?” He asked.
“Yes, love.”
She set the dough in a baking pan, placed it in the oven to bake, and then wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.
“Tea?” She made her way over to the kettle, filled it with water, then flicked the switch.
“Sure.” He watched his mother closely. “Well, that’s good news, I guess . . . about the investigation, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so, son. We just have to wait and see what happens.”
Sandip reflected on the news. He watched his mother fuss around in the kitchen. Gazing off, he noticed the wall clock was missing.
“Where’s the clock gone, Mum?”
“Hmm, what clock?”
“The one Dad got you as a wedding gift.” he pointed to the vacant space on the wall where it was and has always been. “You hung it over there.”
“Oh, that. It fell off the wall. Smashed to pieces.”
Sandip nodded his head and side-eyed his mother. “Hmm, that’s strange.”
His thoughts returned to the news he had just learned about Chelsea.
He had literally erupted once he found out his father cut everyone out of the will. For a second, he couldn’t believe he’d do that. Not after his dad knew how much debt he had hanging over his head.
His business start-up was suffering. And he had told his dad that much when he asked him for money. He almost got it too until the old man discovered his little habit—cocaine, which he hadn’t told his mother about. Instead, he flatly refused to invest further in his business or help him clear his debts that were secured to the house he shared with his wife and kids.
Sandip was livid with him and upset that his dad could watch him suffer like that, especially when Tony was a wealthy man with properties he rented in London and Spain, not to mention the restaurants turning over high profits, and then there was the cash in the bank.
The more Sandip struggled to meet his bills, pay his family’s mortgage, and feed his cocaine habit, the greater the rage built up within him.
As his son, he should have helped me, he pouted to himself, rather than paying for a massive wedding for my sister. To make matters worse, he had gifted her a large sum of money, so she and new husband could immigrate to Australia last year.
Sandip sat through the wedding day calculating the cost of everything from the food, dress, entertainment, and gifts his father had showered the couple with. He brought his mind back from the past and to his mother.
“Did they say anything else?” Sandip asked.
“Nope.” Manisha brewed the tea by hand. “Just that she’s a suspect, and they’d be in contact.”
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“Answer that for me will you, love?”
Sandip made his way over to the kitchen counter and picked up the cordless phone.
“Hello.”
“Hi, this is Detective Dunne. Is Mrs. Patel around?”
“Detective.” Sandip’s heart leapt into his throat. “Mum told me you’ve reopened the case. What’s the latest?”
“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to discuss with your mother. Is she there?”
“One second.” Sandip headed over to the sink, then handed Manisha the phone. “It’s Detective Dunne, Mum.”
Manisha took the phone. “Detective is everything okay?”
“So far, just a call to see if Detective McDonald and I can pass by this evening. We have some questions?”
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing for you to worry about at this point. What time can we call around?”
“Anytime you wish, I’ll be in. I don’t have any plans.”
“Okay, we’ll be there sometime this evening once we’ve wrapped a few things up.”
“Fine, see you then.”
Manisha ended the call, then slowly placed the phone on the table.
“What’s up, Mum?” Sandip asked. “If that little bitch had never got her hands on everything, we’d be okay now. Why are the police interested in talking to you and not Chelsea?”
“I don’t know, son.” Manisha responded casually.
“I’ll hang around and wait until they show up.”
Manisha remained silent and headed back over to her second bread dough.
Sandip watched her kneaded it with excessive force through gritted teeth. Something wasn’t right about his mother’s change in demeanour. The energy in the room shifted with it. He sensed she was worried about thing. He thought back to Chelsea and her part in his family’s demise.
That little bitch went too far, he watched his mother pound the dough.
“Does Sanita know about this, Mum?”
Sandip racked his brain, wondering what progress the police had made with the reinvestigation of the case. He too never believed in Chelsea’s innocence when it came to his dad’s decision to cut him, his sister, and mother out of his will in favour of a woman young enough to be his daughter—a woman he had only known for seven to eight weeks.
Each month that passed, his anger boiled, his debts crept up, and he felt distain towards his dad, and Chelsea.
“No. I’ve not been in contact with her yet, everything’s happened so fast. The police on
ly made contact the day before yesterday.”
Sandip nodded and watched his Mum pound the dough with interest. He pulled out his phone and updated his sister on the latest news on their father’s cold murder case.
22
Tables Turn
Detective Dunne
Standing in the light rain outside the building, Dunne and McDonald glanced at one of Chelsea’s windows.
Buzzing her flat number on the intercom, received no response.
Dunne stepped back from the entrance and his gaze roamed over the building. “Well, we’ve got the warrant to enter. It’s not going to be easy to cave in this security door.”
McDonald glanced over at the intimidating door, made with toughened glass and reinforced metal.
One of Chelsea’s neighbours made their way out.
“Is everything okay?” The elderly lady looked up from her small height to Dunne and McDonald, then at the surrounding uniformed officers. “Oh, dear.”
Finally, a stroke of luck, he thought.
“Yes, ma’am everything is fine.” Dunne grabbed the heavy door and allowed the lady to exit. “We just need to enter the building to carry out an investigation.”
“Oh, okay. I’ve lived here for almost ten years and never so much as seen anyone park illegally.” She re-arranged her handbag and walking stick, then expanded her umbrella to shield herself from the rain.
“Everything’s fine. By the time you’re back, we’ll be out your way.”
She glanced around and looked back at Dunne with a non-fussed expression. “No, no, don’t rush, take your time. If there’s something you must do, I’ll leave you to it.”
The elderly lady made her way down the street.
Dunne held to door open with his foot and took one final glance around the parking lot.
“Strange,” Dunne said, “her car’s parked downstairs, and the lights are on upstairs.”
He looked up at her window again.
McDonald nodded toward the inside of the building, then signalled to the uniformed officers to head inside. His ice blue eyes, and serious expression, turned back to his partner. “There’s only one way to find out what the deal is.”
Dunne, followed by McDonald and the uniformed officers, all piled into the building.
“All clear.” Dunne turned and beckoned his team to follow his lead up toward Chelsea’s front door.
The men took the stairs two at a time and arrived outside unit number twenty-five.
Dunne pressed his ear against the door. He nodded back at the uniformed officers on stand-by with a bollard to cave in the door frame.
Boom
The bollard ploughed into the wooden surface, it flew open, illuminating the hallway to Chelsea’s home.
“Chelsea.” Dunne crossed the threshold, then cleared the entrance. “Chelsea.” There was still no response. He turned to his team of men and waved them in, encouraging them to follow his lead.
“Chelsea.”
No response.
Dunne moved farther into the hallway, then kicked the bedroom door that was slightly ajar. Frustrated, he moved slowly down the hallway and walked into the open plan lounge and kitchen area.
“Oh, fuck,” he shouted, “call an ambulance someone.”
Dunne ran over to Chelsea, McDonald close on his heels.
Her body was sprawled in an awkward position on the floor.
McDonald reached down to check her pulse. “Forget it. We’re too late, she’s dead.”
Dunne and his partner looked around the living room area.
“The only sign of a struggle is the fridge door left wide open and a smashed bottle of wine on the floor,” said McDonald.
Dunne noted the shopping bags from an art supply store positioned neatly on the sofa. He walked over, pulled out a pair of gloves from his inside pocket, slid them on, and then used a finger to open the canvas bag. From inside, he pulled out a receipt.
“The date and time show she bought the items yesterday.” Dunne showed McDonald the receipt. “Someone bag this up for evidence,” he demanded. “Prints, DNA, everything, find it. Contact the store and ask for the CCTV footage from the last twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the uniformed officers responded.
Within the hour, Chelsea’s home was sealed off with tape.
Dunne looked around the disarray in disbelief.
McDonald approached with his note pad in hand. He pointed down to his notes. “I’ve spoke to the neighbours. No one heard a sound or knows anything.”
“Typical,” Dunne scoffed. “Any CCTV around the place?”
“Nada, not a damn thing.”
McDonald huffed, then ran a hand over his stubble. His eyes roamed over the living area, busy with the forensic team. Cameras flashed, and everyone worked in silence.
“Right, forensics are dusting down every inch of the place,” McDonald said and turned to Dunne.
“Okay, let’s head out.” Dunne glanced around one final time.
McDonald nodded. “One second, let me grab this.” He pulled his phone out from his pocket. “Hello,” he said into the device, then listened to the caller. “Okay, thanks.” With the push of a button, he ended the call and met Dunne’s gaze.
“What is it?”
“Chelsea’s body is on its way for an autopsy, not much else we can do here.”
Dunne raised an eyebrow. “Okay, let’s head out to Mrs. Patel’s.”
23
Process of Elimination
Detective Dunne
“I say we bring her in for further questioning.” Parked a few houses away from Manisha’s home, McDonald turned to face Dunne. “We don’t have the time to hang around.”
“Hmm, but with Chelsea’s death, a murder weapon in hand, and another suspect placing Chelsea in the picture for Tony’s murder, it’s a hard call.” Dunne paused, then looked up at the family home. “What do we really have on his wife?”
Dunne pulled out his notepad and flicked through it.
“The notes. If anyone had a motive for directing us toward Chelsea for Tony’s murder, so far, it would appear to be her.” McDonald responded, “with Lance, he’s been in custody, he couldn’t have personally mailed those notes.” Dunne nodded in agreement.
“We last saw Chelsea alive Monday morning, then we pulled Lance in for questioning,” McDonald confirmed, then turned down the heating system in the car. “She, more than anyone, would want Chelsea dead. We need to know where she’s been since we last saw Chelsea alive.”
“True, it’s a possibility.” Dunne entertained the theory with his eyes trained on the house. “Losing her battle to contest the will would be enough to piss her off.”
“Exactly.”
“Then there’s the access to the properties. She was Tony’s wife,” Dunne added.
Both men looked at each other, then back at the house. The lights were on.
“Manisha’s home.” McDonald stepped out of the car. “Or so it appears.”
After locking the doors, Dunne and McDonald strolled over to Manisha’s front door. Dunne rang the bell.
“Damn, shitty London weather,” Dunne whispered under his breath.
McDonald chuckled, then straightened the collar on his raincoat to shield himself from the rain and wind.
The rain hadn’t let up all day. It was now approaching early evening.
A few streetlights flicked on in the background, and footsteps approached the door.
Through the glass, Dunne noticed someone taller than Manisha heading down the hallway. The door swung open with a flash of light.
“Detectives, hi.” Sandip looked from one detective to the other. “Come in. Mum’s in the kitchen.”
Sandip stepped back from the door, allowing them in.
In silence, Dunne and McDonald stepped in.
“Straight on ahead,” Sandip instructed.
Dunne led the way with McDonald behind him. As always, he was on high alert, scoping out the home
on the way to the kitchen area.
As they entered the kitchen with Sandip behind them, Manisha was washing the dishes at the sink.
“Evening, Mrs. Patel,” Dunne greeted her.
“Oh, hi, please take a seat. Can I get you a drink?” Manisha called over her shoulder.
“No, no, thanks. We’re fine.” Dunne glanced around the kitchen and got straight down to business. “Mrs. Patel, we need you to come to the station. We have some questions.”
“Questions?” Manisha spun around and face Dunne, wide-eyed. “What’s happened? Why can’t we speak here?”
“This is more formal,” McDonald stated flatly.
“Me? But . . . I—”
“Mrs. Patel, we must go now,” McDonald said. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
She looked from the detectives to her son, standing by the threshold of the kitchen entrance.
“It’s okay Mum,” he reassured her as if he could read her mind. “I’ll come with you and—”
“We have a car waiting outside,” Dunne said. “Sandip, it’s best you stay here. Someone can give you a call when we’re done, and then you can come and collect your mum.”
“Shit, that serious, huh?”
Dunne turned to Sandip but said nothing in response.
Sandip was tall and slender, he looked like a trendy ‘geek’ to him with his dress sense. He removed his round glasses and cleaned them nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Dunne turned to Manisha. “When you’re ready, Mrs. Patel, let’s go.”
24
Theories
Detective Dunne
At the station, an hour later, Dunne snatched up the ringing phone.
“Yeah. Make it quick.” He paused. “I’m heading to Interview One to see Manisha.”
“Detective,” the doctor said. “Just a little update.”
“Doc, what’s the latest.” Dunne instantly recognised the coroner’s voice.