Dead Level (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 5) (26 page)

Dixon tiptoed up the stairs and peered into the bedroom, through the gap by the hinges. Dr McConnell was bending over a drawer and a suitcase was open on the bed. He turned to Jane and nodded, then he pushed open the door.

‘Last minute packing is a dangerous business,’ said Dixon, holding up the passport. ‘I always forget something.’

Dr McConnell dropped the pile of clothes on the floor.

‘Dr Ann McConnell, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Elizabeth Perry.’

She slumped back onto the bed, put her head in her hands and started to sob.

‘You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

‘I didn’t know she was pregnant. I swear I didn’t know she was pregnant.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

W
here are they taking her?’ asked Jane.

‘Staines. She’ll be transferred down to the custody
centre
at Express Park tomorrow morning,’ replied Dixon.

They were standing in the living room window of Tulkeley Cottage, watching a police van turning out of the drive.

‘And Dave and Mark?’

‘On the way.’

‘I should bloody well think so,’ said Jane. ‘What about forensics?’

‘They’re here, but they’re wasting their time. What we’re looking for will be on her computer, or in her bank statements. The Surrey lot are at her office now.’

‘I’ve got her phone,’ said Jane, holding up a clear plastic bag with a BlackBerry in it.

‘What about the other one?’

‘What other one?’

‘There were two on her desk.’

‘No sign of it,’ said Jane.

‘Muriel bloody Dummett,’ said Dixon grimacing. ‘Where does she live?’

‘Virginia Water.’

‘Get someone over there now and find out what happened to that phone.’

‘Will do,’ replied Jane. ‘Where are you going?’

‘It’s stopped raining so I’m gonna give Monty a run on the cricket pitch. Then we’ll have a look for her bank statements.’

It was just after 10 p.m. by the time that Dave Harding and Mark Pearce arrived. The search of Dr McConnell’s house had been completed and several boxes of papers had been catalogued and were in the back of a police van on their way to Express Park. Her computer, iPad and mobile phone had already arrived at the High Tech Unit.

‘We’ve finished here, Dave. Best get over to her office and sort that out,’ said Dixon. ‘You know what to look for?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good. Stay over and follow her down in the morning. We’re gonna head back.’

‘What’s it all about, Sir?’

‘Money, Mark,’ replied Dixon. ‘Lots of money.’

‘Well done.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

DCI Lewis was waiting for Dixon and Jane on the landing when they arrived at Express Park just after 8 a.m. the following morning.

‘Did she confess?’

‘When I cautioned her she said she didn’t know Elizabeth had been pregnant.’

‘That’s near as damn it then, isn’t it?’

‘We’ll see when I interview her,’ replied Dixon. ‘But I’m not holding my breath. And we’ve got a lot of work to do before then too.’

‘What time did you arrest her?’ asked Lewis.

‘Twenty-five past four.’

‘Let me know if you need an extension.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Louise has been in since five. She’s made a start on the boxes that arrived last night. Room two.’

‘I’ll get some coffee and catch you up,’ said Jane.

‘What’ve you got?’ asked Dixon, opening the door of meeting room two. The empty boxes were lined up along the wall and all of the documents were laid out in piles, covering the table.

‘She’s got three bank and three building society accounts,’ replied Louise. ‘There are statements for them all going back four years or so, but they stop last September. Nothing after that.’

‘I wonder why,’ said Dixon.

‘Maybe she switched to online banking,’ said Louise.

‘Possibly. Or maybe she shredded them?’

Louise nodded.

‘You know what to do?’ asked Dixon.

‘The requests have already gone in, Sir.’

‘Well done.’

‘Dave rang,’ said Jane, from the doorway. She handed a mug of coffee to Dixon. ‘They’re about an hour away.’

‘Good.’

‘And Muriel Dummett’s in custody at Staines. They found the remains of a mobile phone in her wood burner.’

‘What about the SIM card?’

Jane shook her head.

‘Tell ’em to keep hold of her until we’ve interviewed
Dr McConnell,
’ said Dixon. ‘She may give us enough for a charge of perverting the course of justice to stick.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Dixon spent the next hour thumbing through the bank statements that were neatly laid out on the meeting room table. There were also share certificates, dividend counterfoils, investment
statements
and a file marked ‘old tax’. None of it particularly enlightening, although it did confirm what he already knew. There was a lot of money to be made out of insulin.

‘Anything from High Tech, Jane?’ Dixon shouted across to the CID area on the other side of the atrium.

‘Just going through her phone numbers now. Nothing else yet.’

Then the lift doors opened and Dave stepped out with Mark right behind him, each carrying two archive boxes.

‘In here with those, Dave,’ said Dixon.

‘She’s downstairs, being processed. Her solicitor’s here too. Followed us down in his car.’

‘It’s amazing what they’ll do for a privately paying client,
isn’t it
?’

‘What’s in the boxes?’ asked Louise.

‘Company stuff.’

‘Nothing exciting, I don’t think,’ said Mark.

Dixon watched Louise check her phone and then run over to her computer.

‘Just put them on the floor here,’ said Dixon, gesturing to Dave and Mark to put the boxes against the wall behind the door.

When he looked back Louise was standing by a printer, picking sheets of paper off one by one as they came out. Then she ran over.

‘Lloyds Bank. We’ve got five separate one thousand pound cash withdrawals, each a few days apart, starting 6 September,’ she said, handing the copy statements to Dixon. He glanced down at the entries. The last withdrawal had been made on 25 September.

‘Get the serial numbers.’

‘Will do.’

‘And for any others that come in.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Anyone seen DCI Lewis?’ asked Dixon.

‘In the canteen,’ said Jane.

DCI Lewis was reading a newspaper when Dixon sat down opposite him.

‘What’ve you got?’ asked Lewis, lowering the paper.

‘Cash withdrawals. We’re getting the serial numbers now.’

‘And?’

‘We found over twenty grand in Torquay,’ said Dixon. ‘It was pinched by Collyer. I need the serial numbers.’

‘Leave it with me,’ said Lewis, folding up his newspaper.

He had been looking forward to this interview, although it would take him a while to get used to the new room layout. He was sitting next to Dr McConnell, with Hugo Waters, her solicitor, to Dr McConnell’s right. Louise was sitting to Dixon’s left. Very odd. In front of them, against the wall, was a table with the recorder on it.

It began just after 2 p.m. Dixon introduced those present for the tape with Louise, Dr McConnell and Waters each acknowledging their presence in turn. Then he reminded Dr McConnell that she was under caution.

‘Yesterday afternoon you told me that you didn’t know
Elizabeth
Perry.’

‘That’s right. I don’t know her.’

‘Then, later in the same conversation, you told me about her symptoms, said she had some underlying condition or allergy.’

‘I was confused. That’s what’s usually behind those sort of
complaints
.’

‘What sort of complaints?’

‘Side effects.’

Dixon opened a file and took out a piece of paper, placing it on the table in front of Dr McConnell.

‘This is a printout of a newspaper article from the
Surrey Comet
in February of last year. In it Elizabeth Perry sets out her symptoms. Have you seen this before?’

‘No.’

‘But you gave a comment to the paper and it’s included in the article.’

‘I told you, I give lots of comments to journalists.’

‘And we found it in a lever arch file in your office, marked “Press Cuttings”.’

‘That’s maintained by Sarah, our PR consultant.’

‘And you never look at it?’

‘Rarely.’

‘OK, so, just to recap, you told me that human insulin is cheaper to produce and more expensive for the NHS to buy than animal insulin. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you mean when you said you didn’t know she was pregnant?’

Dr McConnell looked up and stared at Dixon.

‘It never mentioned that in the newspaper reports.’

‘The newspaper reports you’ve not seen before?’

Dr McConnell looked back down at her shoes.

‘And where were you going in such a hurry?’

‘Head office in Gothenburg.’

‘You had no flight booked.’

‘I was going to buy a ticket at the airport.’

‘Of course you were. Odd though. I’d have thought a secretary as efficient as Muriel would’ve had that organised well in advance.’

‘I forgot to tell her.’

‘But you didn’t forget to tell her to destroy your other phone.’

‘I don’t have another phone.’

‘I saw it on your desk and we found the remains of it in her wood burning stove.’

Dr McConnell glanced across at Waters.

‘She’s currently being held at Staines on suspicion of perverting the course of justice,’ continued Dixon.

‘Not Muriel. You can’t think . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

‘Tell me about Betalin UK,’ said Dixon. ‘It’s part owned by you and the Swedish company?’

‘Yes.’

‘Only I had a rummage through the company accounts, not that I’m an accountant, you understand, and there were various bonus payments being made. What are those for?’

‘Performance bonuses.’

‘For increased sales?’

‘Yes.’

‘How does that work then? I mean, you can’t make people get type 1 diabetes, can you?’

‘No.’

‘So, how d’you increase your sales?’

‘We market to doctors and consultants. Make sure that Betalin is the brand they’re thinking of when they are prescribing.’

‘And where does animal insulin fit in with that?’

‘There’s no bonus payable for orders of animal insulin,’ whispered Dr McConnell.

‘You’re gonna have to speak up a bit for the tape,
Dr McConnell
,’ said Dixon. ‘Can you repeat your last answer?’

‘There’s no bonus for animal insulin orders.’

‘That’s right,’ said Dixon. ‘And according to this memo, there’s a penalty, isn’t there? For the record DI Dixon is handing to
Dr McConnell
a copy of a memo from Patrick Sondgren dated
31 January
last year.’

Dr McConnell took the piece of paper, glanced at it and then handed it to Waters.

‘How much pressure are you under to wind down orders for animal insulin?’

‘It’s a business. You wind down the less profitable parts of your business and expand the more profitable.’

‘But people depend on animal insulin . . .’

‘I can’t help that,’ snapped Dr McConnell.

‘What would’ve happened if Elizabeth and Tom Perry had continued their campaign to raise awareness of animal insulin?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think you do,’ said Dixon. ‘Let’s assume Tom became an MP and used parliamentary privilege to blow the whole thing wide open, that the NHS are buying the most expensive insulin, which costs you less to produce than animal insulin . . .’

‘I . . .’

‘And which, incidentally, is just as effective at regulating blood sugar levels.’

Dixon watched Dr McConnell’s eyes darting around the room, first at Waters, then Louise, then back to him. She began picking at the seam of her jeans.

‘I’m going to assume that’s why you had her killed,’ said Dixon.