DARK CRIMES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense (6 page)

‘A connection. I don’t know how it links them, or what it means, but this is it. A silk designer umbrella in burgundy with a flower pattern. Donna had this last night when she left the hotel.’

* * *

Sophie was curled up on the couch in her lounge, sipping coffee after the light supper that Martin had prepared. She’d changed into slacks and a cashmere jumper after a quick shower.

‘Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thanks. It was lovely. I’ve been snacking during the day, so I wasn’t totally famished. And you’re a genius with pasta. I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Sheer talent,’ he said. ‘Coupled with the fact that the chicken was on special offer in the supermarket, as was that jar of posh sauce. Couldn’t go wrong. I got Jade to pop into the shops on her way home from school. She knows what you like.’

Sophie glanced at their teenage daughter who was sitting in the corner of the room reading a geography text-book. ‘Thanks, sweetheart.’

Jade yawned. ‘I’m off to bed. That hockey practice has worn me out.’

She waved to her parents as she left the room. The TV was on, but Sophie paid little attention to it. She flicked through a small pile of photos that she’d taken out of her bag. This was the third time she’d looked at them. She was frowning slightly.

‘Something worrying you?’

‘Possibly, but I’m most likely being paranoid. I’m about to get the results of a DNA test on a couple of cigarette butts that still had a tiny amount of saliva on them. I was astonished that it hadn’t been washed off by the rain. It was pouring down for most of last night, and they must have been lying there for several hours.’

She handed Martin the photos.

‘It looks as though they’ve been protected from the rain,’ he said. ‘I can see two butts, lying under a couple of leaves. A sort of umbrella effect? I’d say you’ve been really lucky. If that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have thought there’d have been any saliva traces left. But then, I’m no expert. Maybe it doesn’t get washed off by rain as much as I’d have expected.’

‘What’s the leaf?’ she asked. ‘What type of tree?’

‘Looks like a sycamore.’

‘That’s what I thought. There are a couple of sycamores in nearby gardens.’

He examined the photos more closely. ‘Sophie, look at those fag ends again. They’re almost touching, probably about a centimetre apart. What are the chances of a smoker dropping two butts, and them falling that close together, and then a leaf or two blowing over them and staying there, keeping them dry?’

‘Well, if they are that close together, then it increases the chances of a leaf covering them, I suppose. But I do see what you mean.’

‘You know, that leaf doesn’t seem to be lying quite naturally on the ground. There’s something odd about its position. Maybe it’s just the photo. What do your colleagues think?’

‘Haven’t told them. There are a few things I haven’t mentioned. I just need some thinking time, and that hasn’t happened yet. It’s been non-stop today, and tomorrow won’t be any different. It’ll probably be even busier.’

‘Well, I could say that I’ll be thinking of you tomorrow, but it wouldn’t be true. Most of my thoughts will be on 11C’s maths mock exam results.’

Sophie laughed. ‘As they should be. Though I do hope you think of me sometimes during your working day.’

‘Yes, but it tends to be only when I see that tall sixth-former who looks like you from the back. Sorry!’

‘And I’m really sorry that there are no tall sixth-formers who look like me from the front. The wrinkles and drying skin haven’t hit them yet.’

‘I’d take your face over theirs any day. Listen, I’m whacked and need to get to bed. And I think you need to as well.’

‘Yes, boss. This can all wait until tomorrow . . .’

Sophie stopped talking and stared into space.

‘Sophie? Are you alright?’ Martin said.

‘Her face. I think I’ve seen it before somewhere. And quite recently.’

‘Whose face?’

‘Susie Pater. The young woman who was killed today. It was you mentioning faces just now. I knew something was niggling away at the back of my mind. Now where could it have been?’

CHAPTER 5: Scars and Bruises

Wednesday Morning, Week 1

It was a bright and sunny morning with a fresh breeze blowing in from the sea. Sophie had sent a message to the incident room, listing the tasks she wanted done in the first half of the morning. Meanwhile she visited Benny Goodall at his lab in the hospital in Dorchester.

As soon as he saw her walk in, Benny said, ‘I always see you and think ‘here’s trouble!’ You look as fresh as ever, though I expect you were up half the night.’

‘It’s all down to the careful application of cosmetics, Benny. Though careful is maybe not the word I should have chosen on this particular morning. Just don’t examine me too closely under a strong light.’

They stood in front of a flat screen in his office.

‘Here are the results of the scans I had done,’ said Goodall.

He clipped an X-ray to the screen and turned on the backlight.

‘What am I looking at?’

‘It shows her left leg below the knee. If you look carefully you can see the residual marks from a hairline fracture mid-fibula and lying just to the outside of centre. Here.’

He pointed to the scan, where a slight, thin shadow lay across the thinner of the two shin bones.

‘Now if you look closely with this magnifying glass, you’ll also see a slight darkening on the surface of the tibia. It wasn’t broken, but it does have a residual bruise scar.’

‘So?’

The most common explanation for this type of scarring is a kick. It’s why footballers wear shin-pads. A hard kick in the middle of the shin can slide off the stronger tibia. It catches in the gap and causes the fibula to break. In this case it wasn’t a complete break, just a hairline crack. But it’s there, as clear as day.’

‘Can you be sure that it was caused by a kick?’

‘No, not totally. There could be other reasons. But it is likely.’

‘Okay . . . Could you face me, Benny? I want to act this out. It’s your right leg, and I’m standing opposite you. I kick out like so.’

She moved her right leg so that the toe of her boot touched his shin, and then slid across the leg towards the outside.

‘That doesn’t seem right. Let me try the left.’

This time she stood with her right leg taking her weight, and acted out a kick with the left.

‘That seems more like it. The toe-cap area is more front-on to the tibia, and catches the gap more forcefully. I think the chances are that he was left-footed. Wouldn’t you kick out with your stronger foot?’

‘Almost always. But we are dealing in probabilities here, not absolutes. The scarring was probably caused by a hard kick. It was probably from a left foot. This means that the perpetrator was probably left-footed. They’re all probables.’

‘Benny, what I do is always built on probabilities. And I’ve got even more ifs than you. After all, she may have been playing hockey or football and the break may have nothing whatsoever to do with the case. But there are the other marks that you spotted, and taken together it all tends to point one way, doesn’t it?’

‘I’m not an expert on domestic violence, Sophie. But I have seen plenty of evidence for it over the years. And I have to say that this bone-scarring, coupled with the skin marks, does tend to point that way. They seem to fit the pattern. Here are the photos for you.’

Sophie looked at the close-up images of the marks on Donna’s arms and face.

‘Do you think that the faint marks on her neck could have been due to attempted strangulation?’

‘Well, I did wonder that yesterday when I first spotted them. And nothing in the close-up images would count against it. But they are almost healed, so it’s difficult to be sure.’

‘How do they match up with the position and marks on her mother’s neck? You haven’t started her autopsy yet, have you?’

‘No, it’s scheduled for mid-morning. But there are close-up photos of her injuries. I had them taken when her body was brought in yesterday evening. I haven’t had a close look yet.’

They moved to his desk, and he opened a file of digital images on his computer. He placed a set of ruler guides on the screen, and took measurements. When they returned to the photos of Donna and compared the relative positions of the marks, there was little variation.

‘Looks similar,’ Goodall concluded. ‘But then it could be argued that there won’t be much of a variation in position, no matter who the strangler was. The pressure points are pretty localised.’

‘Even so. There was a strangling of a young woman yesterday in Bournemouth, over by the railway station. It might be the same guy. Her post-mortem will be late today at the infirmary, I expect. I wonder if it’s possible for you to have a word with whoever does it about getting really accurate measurements for the neck marks, and some close-up images? We could then compare all three.’

She looked again at the photos of Donna’s mother on the computer screen.

‘Is it possible to make any conclusions about the ligature used?’

‘Not from the girl, no. The marks are too faint to be certain. But we might be able to from the marks on her mother’s neck. My guess is some kind of cord, but I’ll do some measurements during the examination.’

‘Fine. Any information is better than nothing.’ She pointed to the X-ray still clipped to the backlit screen. ‘Did she have treatment for that fracture? Can you tell from the scan?’

‘It would have been very painful, and would have induced swelling. Most people would have got it checked out. Standard treatment would have been a cast for three or four weeks to allow a clean knitting of the bone tissue. A hairline fracture like that would probably have healed cleanly if she’d strapped it up tightly herself and kept off her feet for a couple of weeks. But how likely is that? My guess is that she had it treated. Most people would because of the pain.’

‘That means there must be hospital records somewhere. Can you be any more definite about a possible date for the injury?’

‘Not really. I’m sticking my neck out a bit with the guess I’ve given you. Don’t take it as gospel, and be prepared to go for dates before or after.’

‘Look, I’d better be getting back to Swanage. The team have been chasing up some loose ends, and I want to see how they are getting on. And the DNA results should be coming in soon.’

‘By the way, Sophie, there were no signs of recent sexual activity. And there’s something you need to know about the knife injury. It didn’t do nearly as much damage as the doctor at the scene thought.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘She may not have died instantly. There’s a distinct possibility that she bled to death, maybe taking up to ten minutes or so.’

‘Would she have been conscious?’

‘Unlikely. At best she would have been drifting in and out of consciousness, and that only for the first few minutes. The main cause of death would have been blood loss.’

‘That’s given me something to think about. Thanks.’

She shook his hand and turned to leave.

‘I was hoping for a goodbye kiss,’ he said.

‘You’ll wait a long time for that, young man,’ she laughed. ‘Any more cheek and I’ll set my six-foot-four, rugby-playing husband onto you.’

‘Is this someone new? Martin is a five-foot-ten maths teacher who shares my hobby of birdwatching. He hasn’t played rugby since we were at school together, and he hated it then. But thank you for the “young man” compliment.’

‘You’re most welcome. Bye, Benny.’

* * *

Sophie was back in Swanage by ten. The incident room was busy, with all of the detectives either inspecting documents or making telephone calls. Barry Marsh looked up as she came in, and raised a finger. She crossed the room to his desk.

‘Morning, Barry. Something useful?’

‘Yes, ma’am. The street light on Spring Hill was out because someone had cut some of the internal wiring. I went across this morning with an electrician called by the council.’

‘So does that imply someone with electrical knowledge? Isn’t it difficult to get inside those things?’

‘No. Apparently it’s fairly simple. All you need is a triangular key to get the cover-plate off, and some insulated wire-cutters to snip the wires inside. Job done.’

‘How easy is it to get these keys? Are they common?’

‘If you didn’t have one, a small wrench would do the job perfectly. So our man didn’t need any special skill. It would only take a minute or two at the most.’

‘Did you check the inside fittings for prints?’

‘Nothing came up. He must have been wearing gloves,’ said Barry.

‘It was all meticulously planned and carried out. He left nothing to chance. That's just for you and me, by the way.’

‘But what about the cigarette butts? Isn’t the DNA match due in later? If they do match, that’ll have been a serious slip-up. Maybe luck will be on our side after all,’ Barry said.

‘Maybe. The results should be in any time now. Any luck tracing Donna’s brother?’

‘Not yet, but I’m hopeful. There are three of us working through the lists. It would have been near-impossible if we didn’t know his name was David. But there are still an awful lot of David Goodenoughs in the Midlands, or even ones with an initial D.’

‘Keep at it. We need to get a family member to identify the bodies. And the knife?’

‘Not yet. We’ve got people combing the immediate area. They’ve searched all the obvious places, including the brook, and nothing’s turned up. Maybe we’ll never find it.’

‘That wouldn’t surprise me, Barry. It all looks so well planned that I’d expect him to have thought of disposal in advance. I don’t think our guy would just throw it away hurriedly. It’ll be somewhere where we’re unlikely to find it. Either that or he’s still got it as a trophy. That might be more in line with the kind of person he is. And the umbrella puzzles me. Turning up the way it did in Susie’s flat confirms the link between her murder and Donna’s. But why would the killer take it there and then partly hide it behind a jacket? I just don’t get it.’

‘As far as we can tell it is the same one. Maria described it in detail. But like you, I can’t see why he would want to take it. The knife I can understand. He wouldn’t want it left at the scene, but an umbrella? Strange.’

‘By the way, Barry, I had the strangest feeling last night that I’d seen Susie Pater’s face before. My husband happened to mention something about faces and it suddenly occurred to me. Maybe it was down to my tiredness, but I was convinced there was something familiar about it.’

‘Can’t say I spotted anything, ma’am, but I’ll give it some thought.’

Sophie nodded and crossed to Lydia Pillay’s desk.

‘How’s the hospital search going?’

‘Good, ma’am. I started here in Swanage at the local cottage hospital, and with the local health centre, but found nothing. Same with Poole, but I struck it lucky in Bournemouth, and got a positive right away. I can go across and see them tomorrow morning. Is that alright?’

‘Absolutely. If we’re in luck someone might remember her. Maybe someone discussed the injury with her.’

‘It would have been so much easier if she’d been registered with one of the local doctors. They’d have had her records to hand. I wonder why she didn’t?’

‘Maybe she just didn’t get around to it. But she must be registered somewhere.’

Sophie walked to the centre of the room and addressed the whole team.

‘Listen, everybody! We’ll have a full meeting at one thirty sharp, directly after lunch. I’d like a verbal report from everyone on progress so far. By then we should know the DNA results. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.’

* * *

She was sipping a coffee in the corridor when her mobile rang. It was the forensic office at county headquarters. She listened intently, and then went to find the senior station officer.

‘The DNA analysis has come back from forensics, and it’s positive. I’d like Berzins charged at one thirty. Could you put someone on to getting his solicitor back in?’

‘That’s brilliant news. You must be pleased. Do you think you can find enough evidence to charge him with the other two murders?’

‘We’ll do our best, Tom. By the way, I’ve arranged for someone to come in and observe while we charge him. She’s DI Wendy Blacklock from the Met’s domestic violence unit. She should be arriving sometime soon, but if she is late we hold back on the charge until she’s here. Okay?’

She returned to the incident room, called the team together and told them the news about the DNA match. There were one or two whoops and cheers.

‘Don’t get carried away. We still need all of this backup evidence. If anything, it’s even more important now. And we need to trace the brother. So keep at it.’

She spoke quietly to Marsh.

‘Barry, we’ll charge him at one thirty. His solicitor is being contacted. I’ve arranged for someone from the Met to be present as an observer, just so that you know. I want you there as well.’

* * *

Wendy Blacklock had been second in command of the Met’s domestic violence unit for three years. She was considered to be one of the foremost experts on assaults within relationships. Sophie had met Wendy while attending several training courses that Wendy had run, and they had stayed in contact. She was shorter than Sophie, dark-haired and with none of Sophie’s sharp dress sense, but they got on well. Both were dedicated and shrewd, and well respected professionally. Wendy had travelled from London to Wareham after Sophie’s phone call the previous evening.