BURIED CRIMES: a gripping detective thriller full of twists and turns (16 page)

Chapter 23: Film Star Looks

Friday morning, week 2

Dave Nash, the forensic chief with the film star looks, so breathtakingly handsome that he’d even give George Clooney a run for his money, stood opposite Sophie and scratched his ear.

‘Dave, stop doing that. As it is, you’ve got half the women in the station watching you instead of getting on with their work. It gets worse when you actually move in some way rather than sitting still. You ought to go round with a hazard warning around your neck. Let’s go through to my office where I can ogle you without any competition.’

Laughing, the forensic chief followed Sophie to her temporary office and sat down.

‘What do you have for me?’ Sophie asked.

‘Well, remember that this is early days, so there’ll be more to come. We’ve finished dusting the flat. There are two sets of prints that are all over the place, those of Wethergill himself and the cleaner. But we also found a third set in a few places, including the bedroom. We also found what looks like lipstick on the bathroom mirror, as if a message had been written there. It took a bit of time to reconstruct it, but it appears to be a phone number.’ He passed across a photo of the mirror and a note with the number written on it. ‘There are also photos of several Thai or Philippino women, so he may have been in contact with a dating agency of some kind, although they look quite old.’

‘The photos or the women?’

Nash laughed. ‘The photos. I’m not as sexist or ageist as people may think.’

Sophie smirked. ‘I never thought you were. Can you confirm the presence of cyanide?’

‘Yes. I’ve been in touch with Dr Goodall. Doubtless you’ll be seeing him yourself, but it looks certain that it was cyanide poisoning. We took samples in order to analyse the contents of that jar, and it was potassium cyanide just as the label said. It’s currently locked in a store cupboard in my office. There were also traces in the tumbler on the bedside table, along with some alcohol. Everything adds up, Sophie.’

‘Anything else of interest?’

‘We found his wallet on a shelf. It had a credit card receipt from an Italian restaurant in it, with Wednesday evening’s date. Guessing from the total, I’d say he had dinner with someone.’ He handed her a plastic sleeve containing the receipt. ‘I have the cleaners in now, getting the bedroom back to some sort of normality. It’s all yours from this afternoon onwards. I’ll send you copies of all our videos and photos as soon as I’m back in my office. Is that all okay?’

Sophie nodded. She was serious now, the mischievous smile gone. ‘Of course. You always do a brilliant job, Dave. I’m really grateful for the extra effort you put in, and I trust you completely.’

‘But this isn’t what you were expecting? Am I right?’

She shook her head. ‘No. It came as a total shock. We were already well down another road entirely. Ah well. Such is life. I’ll chase up the restaurant angle right now, then follow up on the phone number. We’ll visit the flat this afternoon. Did anything show up on the envelope of money that we gave you?’

‘Lots of prints from the cleaner, as you’d expect. She obviously took the money out to count it, then replaced it. A couple of Wethergill’s prints on the envelope and some of the notes but not all. And prints from a third person, not yet identified. Every single bank note as well as a single smudged print on the envelope. It’s possible that whoever it was tried to wipe it off.’

* * *

‘Well, here’s an interesting one, Barry.’ Sophie stood leaning against Marsh’s desk. ‘Ristorante Italia on the High Street confirmed that someone answering Wethergill’s description was there Wednesday evening, dining with a woman. Apparently she was late, and the staff could see that he was getting restless. His date did arrive in the end, though, and she was well worth the wait, according to the manager. A middle-aged woman, very attractive and very well-dressed. He said they seemed very intimate with each other. I wonder if she’s the person who left the lipstick message on the bathroom mirror? Shall we give the number a go? I want you to listen in on your extension.’

Sophie waited until Marsh was ready and dialled the number, that of a mobile phone. It was answered after two rings.

‘Good morning. This is Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen of Dorset police. Who am I speaking to, please?’

The voice was cultured. ‘I’m Pauline Stopley. How can I help you?’

‘Pauline, did you visit the Ristorante Italiana on Wednesday night?’

‘Yes, I did. Why?’

‘Were you with someone?’

‘Yes. I had a dinner date with John Wethergill.’

‘And was it you who left this phone number in his flat?’

A short laugh. ‘Yes. In lipstick, on the bathroom mirror. It was a bit of light-hearted nonsense after my visit at the weekend.’

‘Were you in the flat on Wednesday night?’

‘No. I’d had a couple of busy days of meetings in London and I was just too tired. I’ll be seeing him tonight, though. He’s coming round to mine. It’s my turn to cook. Why?’

Sophie continued. ‘Are you a longstanding friend or partner, Pauline?’

‘Goodness, no. We only met for the first time on Saturday. I’ve seen him three times in total, but he’s a really nice bloke. Can I ask why for a third time, since you haven’t explained yet?’

‘I really need to see you, Pauline. Would it be best if I came to you, or would you prefer to drop into the police station?’

There was a pause. ‘This sounds serious. I’m at work at the moment, but I’m only five minutes’ walk from you. I’ll come over. Who do I ask for again?’

‘DCI Sophie Allen. I’ll have someone waiting.’

* * *

Pauline hurried into the foyer of the police station, looking anxiously around her. Marsh walked towards her.

‘I’m DS Barry Marsh, Ms Stopley. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to the DCI’s office. It will only take a moment.’

‘Can you tell me what’s happened? Please?’

Marsh shook his head. ‘Sorry. That’s for the DCI.’ He led her through to the back of the station, where he unlocked an interview room.

‘Would you like some tea or coffee?’

‘A glass of water will be fine.’ She looked tense and anxious.

Sophie came in, shook hands and introduced herself. ‘Can I call you Pauline or would you rather I use your last name?’

‘Pauline is fine.’

‘I have some really upsetting news for you, Pauline. John Wethergill was found dead in his flat by his cleaner yesterday morning.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Pauline. ‘But how? He seemed absolutely fine when I left him outside the restaurant. He only had an easy five minute walk to get home. What on earth happened?’

‘We don’t have the full details yet but the circumstances seem suspicious.’

Pauline put her hand to her brow. ‘I can’t believe it. How could it happen? Are you sure it’s him?’

‘Yes. His cleaning lady is certain. His appearance matches the photos in the flat, and one of my officers has been round to his shop. His staff were concerned when he didn’t come in yesterday morning.’ She paused. ‘It may well be that you were the last person to see him alive, Pauline. With that in mind, I’ll need a full statement about your date with him on Wednesday night. Would you like to do that now or some other time? I’d prefer to get it out of the way as soon as possible, while it’s fresh in your mind. We’ll also need to take your fingerprints since you’ve been in his flat, even if it was only once. Shall we change that water for a cup of tea?’

Pauline nodded, still looking dazed. The interview lasted another twenty minutes and when it was over Sophie mentioned that her daughter, Hannah, had met Pauline briefly at the weekend after the talk on FGM. Pauline nodded and said she remembered talking to her about the theatre.

Just after twelve, Rae returned to the incident room. She had been visiting Wethergill’s hardware shop and the Italian restaurant that the couple had gone to on Wednesday. Pauline Stopley had just left, so the three detectives spent some time crosschecking her statement with that of the restaurant manager. Everything matched.

‘One thing, ma’am,’ Rae said. ‘According to the manager there was another couple sitting at a table close by who may well have heard some of their conversation. It might be worth checking with them. They’re regulars, so he gave me their details.’

‘Good work, Rae. Go ahead. I just want to be reassured that nothing was said that might have tipped him over the edge. At the moment it looks like their date was free of friction, but all verification is good verification.’

The fingerprint check showed that the third set of prints belonged to Pauline Stopley. They were found in the lounge, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom. There were several sets on the headboard.

‘We’ll need to hear her explanation for those, won’t we, ma’am?’ Marsh said.

‘Already done, Barry. We had a brief chat out of your earshot after she had her prints taken. She told me they’d spent Sunday night together in his flat. She said her prints would be all over the bedroom. Take that any way you want. I just find it makes his death a bit peculiar. He’d just found a new woman, a rather sexy one at that, so you’d think he would be feeling pleased with life. But instead he apparently commits suicide. Does it add up?’

‘But the suicide was about something entirely different, wasn’t it? It was about the bodies. Maybe he realised that sooner or later we’d get to know that he was the gardener at the time they were buried. He knew he’d have to face up to it sometime. Why not when he was feeling happy and fulfilled? Go out when you’re on top?’ Marsh shrugged.

Sophie frowned. ‘Maybe. It just bothers me a bit. I still want us to keep digging into the background, Barry. The fact that the children died twenty years ago doesn’t make the crime any less serious than one that happened recently. It was still an abhorrent act to put their bodies there, even if we finally decide that they died of natural causes. The fact that one of the people who was around then has topped himself doesn’t change anything. I still want to know why and how it happened, even if it’s hard to find the facts. Forensic science has moved on so much now. It can give us all kinds of leads that might not have been possible a quarter of a century ago. I still think that DNA profiling will be key to solving the case, but we’ve got to trace other family members for that.’

‘I’ve asked for an inventory of the items kept by the Bristol police after Li Hua’s death. The stuff will be in a box in some store-room somewhere, but the people I spoke to were pretty confident it could be found. The case is still open, after all. If we’re in luck there might be something like a hairbrush that can be used. I should get the list tomorrow. It might mean that we don’t have to wait until we find a family member before we can do a DNA check.’

Sophie nodded. ‘That jar of potassium cyanide crystals at Wethergill’s flat was very old, judging by the state of the label. It might well predate 1995, the year we think the children’s bodies were buried. I just wonder if they were killed with the stuff. The problem is, I don’t think there’s any way of telling, not after so long. It would have leached out of the bodies and been broken down in the soil. It might be worth checking though. I’ll get onto some contacts I have in the environmental chemistry world. They might be able to tell me whether it’s worth testing the soil from around the bodies for residues. It’s a long shot but it might help us to know what went on all those years ago.’ She gazed out of the window. ‘Twenty years ago I was in my first detective job, in the Met, working under Harry Turner. I’d just returned to work from maternity leave, after having Hannah. It seems so long ago. What were you up to, Barry?’

He pursed his lips. ‘I was in middle school, about halfway through. I’d just lost my father. He was a farmer in Purbeck, and he died when a stack of hay bales fell on him.’

Sophie stared at him. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me this when we were in the middle of all that hoo-ha about my father? I was so bound up with myself, I could have done with someone reminding me that others have gone through similar tragedies in their childhoods.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s all in the past, isn’t it? Get over it, that’s what I tell myself.’

‘Do you still miss him?’ Sophie asked.

‘Yes, I do. We were very close, him and me. Much closer than I was with my mum. The accident changed our lives completely. It made me decide not to stay in farming. One of the farm hands had stacked the rick really badly and my dad could see it was unsafe. He was trying to secure it when it happened.’

‘That’s awful. Did your mum get compensation?’

‘Yes. Dad was well insured and the worker was found to be negligent. Mum sold the farm and we moved to Swanage. She bought a little café.’

Sophie looked perplexed. ‘Why didn’t you introduce us? We’ve been to Swanage often enough on cases.’

‘She’s not there now. She lives with my sister in Kent, and they run a café together. She moved away soon after I finished school,’ said Marsh.

Sophie nodded, looking thoughtful, and then her mobile phone rang. She looked at the caller display and made a face.

‘Hello, Neil,’ she said, walking towards her office. ‘Yes, it was unfortunate. No, I don’t plan to scale things down right away.’ She listened. ‘I think I need to come and see you. We obviously need to talk, and the sooner the better. The problem is that I’m expecting Harry Turner to arrive soon. He’s the retired expert on child murder I told you about.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m meeting his train in about half an hour. Is it okay if I bring him with me? Or you could come down here for his talk if you want, whichever you prefer.’ Another pause. ‘Okay, we’ll see you at about three.’