Desperate Measures (3 page)

A cordon had been set up to protect the crime scene and the surrounding area. Janine could see the tape, the uniformed officers checking cars and advising residents who needed access.

She could see her sergeants, Shap and Butchers and Lisa, her detective constable talking to the handful of people watching from the opposite pavement. Shap and Butchers looked like a double act, behaved like one often enough. Shap was wiry, sharp and cynical while Butchers was a big man with a belly to match, more of a plodder but meticulous in his police work. Lisa was the one who looked out of place, a striking looking black woman with coffee coloured skin and shiny black curls. She could have been a model, but Janine knew that the young woman was dedicated to the job, keen to learn and make progress.

Janine parked the car and pulled on her protective jumpsuit, collected her mask and gloves and overshoes. It wasn’t the most flattering, or the most comfortable outfit, but it was essential if she were to avoid contaminating the scene.

The address was a large detached villa. A notice board by the front wall identified it as a doctor’s surgery – and gave the telephone number and opening hours.

Janine showed her ID to the officer guarding the crime scene and ducked under the tape across the driveway entrance.

Ahead she could see the forensics team were already busy. A CSI was taking photographs, documenting the victim and the surroundings. Others were erecting a screen to shield the body. Close by she saw Richard talking to Dr Susan Riley the pathologist and went to join them.

‘Susan, Richard,’ Janine said.

Richard nodded hello and gestured to the victim. ‘Donald Halliwell, sixty-four. General practitioner. The cleaner found him,’ Richard said. ‘She arrived at half-past six and he was here, like this. Keys just there.’
              Janine looked at the man on the ground. Grey-haired, clean-shaven, wearing a charcoal grey suit, his blue striped shirt now soaked with blood from the wounds visible on his chest. He lay just outside the door to the building, his feet, in brown leather brogues, facing the road. A yard away from him were a bunch of keys on a leather fob.

‘Did the cleaner touch anything? Go inside?’ Janine asked.

‘No, called 999 straightaway,’ Richard said.

‘Cause of death looks fairly obvious,’ Susan said. ‘We’ll be moving him soon and hold a post-mortem tomorrow. A public place like this, we’ll be drowning in trace evidence.’

Janine nodded. Other factors might well prove to be more significant as evidence, ballistics on the weapon for example, the doctor’s relationships, any motive for someone to kill him.

‘The victim’s been shot,’ Janine said to Richard. ‘What’s the first thing you think of?’

‘Gangs, drugs,’ Richard said.

‘Exactly,’ Janine said. ‘But a GP? And in broad daylight? Were there any witnesses?’

‘No, not that we know of,’ Richard said. ‘If anyone did see it happen, you’d think they’d have told us by now. The car’s registered to his wife.’ Richard gestured across to a car in one of six bays marked
Staff Only
in front of the building. A sign directed patients to a car park at the rear.

‘Anything visible in the car? A bag or briefcase?’ Janine said.

Richard shook his head. ‘No. And no sign of any disturbance inside the building.’

‘The door was unlocked?’ Janine asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Was he locking up, perhaps?’ Janine said.

‘Cleaner says that was often the case, Dr Halliwell would be the last to leave before she arrived. She saw him sometimes. Shall we go in?’

Inside the surgery, there was a reception area to the right and a waiting room to the left. Behind the reception desk were photographs of the practice staff, six in all. Receptionist, practice manager, nurse and three GPs. In his photograph, Donald Halliwell looked fatherly, older than his years, Janine thought. The other two doctors, Anita Gupta and Fraser McKee, were both younger.

They walked on down the broad corridor past four consulting rooms to a bathroom and a locked storage room at the end.

The décor was in good repair, Janine noted, lemon painted walls with green flecked carpeting and white woodwork. Flowers on the reception desk scented the air, paintings hung along the corridor. Richard was right, there was no sign of anything out of place inside the premises.

Back outside, Sergeant Butchers took Janine and Richard to the pavement and introduced them to Ms Ling, the practice manager and key holder. She was a petite woman, of Chinese descent Janine guessed. Her skin was smooth and her face bare of any make-up. She looked young on first impression but Janine saw the fine lines that fanned out from her eyes and the touches of grey in her hair suggesting she was reaching middle age.

‘Ms Ling,’ Janine said, ‘I’m DCI Lewis, I’m in charge of the inquiry. And this is Detective Inspector Mayne.’

Richard said, ‘Hello.’

Ms Ling nodded. ‘Who would do such a thing?’ she said.

‘I know,’ Janine said, ‘I’m sorry. This must be a terrible shock. Have there been any other violent incidents lately? Any threats to Dr Halliwell?’

‘No,’ Ms Ling said, ‘nothing like that.’ She blinked fast and her mouth trembled.

‘We need to contact the rest of the staff,’ Janine said, ‘establish if they’re safe. Would you be able to help us? If you can give their details to these officers.’ She gestured to Lisa, Shap and Butchers.

‘Yes of course,’ said Ms Ling, ‘I’ll need to go inside for the files.’

‘We can have someone take you round to the fire door at the side,’ Janine said.

‘Dr Halliwell,’ Richard said, ‘he would usually carry a bag?’

‘Yes, a briefcase,’ said Ms Ling.

‘What would be in it?’ Janine said.

‘His prescription pad and first aid kit,’ said Ms Ling.

‘Any drugs?’ said Richard.

‘Only small amounts, single doses for emergency use,’ Ms Ling said.

‘Thank you,’ Janine said, ‘the surgery will have to remain closed until we have completed our inquiries here.’

‘Of course. I’ll get the staff details for you,’ Ms Ling said.

Janine nodded to Butchers to accompany the manager.
              Lisa came over. ‘Boss, this is the doctor who was in the news yesterday over the Marcie Young inquest.’

‘Really?’ Janine, on a rare day off, hadn’t caught the news.

‘He’ll be getting more than his fifteen minutes, then,’ said Shap.

Janine glanced at him, always pushing it, was Shap: the cynical comments, the asides and put-downs. He smiled at her. Leave it, Janine thought, pick your battles.

‘Marcie Young, that was an overdose, wasn’t it?’ Janine said.

‘Her mother thought the GP was to blame,’ Richard said.

‘The coroner returned a verdict of misadventure/accidental death,’ Lisa said.

‘We’ll include that in the briefing, ‘Janine said. At this stage it was impossible to tell what was significant and what was trivia. The only way not to overlook essential details was to collect everything and use systems to collate and cross-reference all the data so it was accessible to the team at a moment’s notice.

A news crew had pitched up and wanted the police to make a statement but Janine had spoken to someone at the Press Office and agreed that no details at all would be released until next of kin had been informed.

Butchers and Shap and Lisa had been contacting other practice staff and now reported back.

‘We’ve spoken to everyone but Fraser McKee, one of the other two GPs, the registrar,’ Butchers said. ‘He’s not answering his phone or his mobile.’

‘You take a car over to his house,’ Janine said, ‘and see if he’s there. Shap, Lisa, can you notify next of kin?’

Shap looked pissed off. It was not a job anyone liked doing. He’d probably palm it off on Lisa but then Lisa needed to gain experience in all aspects of the job so that was no bad thing.

Janine watched them go and then walked to her own car. She needed to get back to the station and set all the wheels in motion for the launch of a murder inquiry.

Butchers parked outside the new-build townhouse where Dr Fraser McKee lived. One of three stuck on the side of a fenced-off brown site where further development was planned.

The central house, McKee’s was a wreck. The door hanging off and two windows smashed. He stared for a moment at the scene of destruction. Then rang into HQ.

‘Can we have an area car to 4, Rosedale View, Stretford. Serious criminal damage to the property, the area is going to need a forensic exam and the building secured.’

His request logged, he made his way up to the house. On the threshold he paused and called out, ‘Dr McKee? Is there anyone there? This is the police.’ No response. Butchers couldn’t hear any sound from inside the house.

Butchers edged past the lopsided door and into the open plan living-room and kitchen-diner. The place was a wreck. Bookshelves had been tipped over, a large TV, its screen fractured, was on the floor next to a sofa. The sofa had been slashed and foam stuffing pulled out. A coffee table lay splintered. It looked like a sledgehammer had been taken to the place.

The kitchen was similarly ruined: cabinets buckled and broken, appliances (kettle, toaster, coffee-maker) ripped from their sockets and bashed up. Crockery and foodstuffs were strewn about.

Upstairs the destruction continued. Someone, Butchers thought, had been very, very angry. McKee himself – that would account for the fact that he hadn’t rung and reported the attack? Or someone else? Had McKee even made it home?

Butchers logged into the database and established what car the GP owned. Then he made a second call. ‘Sergeant Butchers, to control. Issue all units to be on the lookout for a grey Peugeot, four zero seven. Registration: mike, alpha, zero, six, foxtrot, mike, delta. And the registered owner, currently missing, Doctor Fraser McKee: white male, late twenties, medium build, dark hair. Thank you.’
              Butchers rang the boss next. ‘McKee’s not home and his car’s missing. Someone has done his house over big style. I’ve put out an obs for McKee and his car. I’ll speak to the neighbours now, to see if anyone saw what happened, if they’ve heard from him.’

Janine turned to Richard. ‘The photo of McKee?’
              Richard held it up.

‘Can we get it copied?’ Janine said. ‘McKee’s car’s gone, Butchers says his house is wrecked. Looks like someone’s got it in for him. The whole thing just got bigger.’
              ‘Could he be a second victim?’ Richard said.

Janine shook her head, it was an appalling prospect.
              ‘Or he’s involved?’ Richard said.

‘And he’s demolished his own house to put us off the scent?’ Janine said.

Richard shrugged.

If he was the second victim, Janine thought, then who was behind it all? Two GPs targeted. Why? It seemed so bizarre. Some cases, some killings, it was obvious who’d done what and why. Most people knew their killers, most killers left plenty of evidence and it was only a matter of time before they were caught, questioned and charged.

But this? Early days, Janine told herself, the picture would become clearer. The priority now was to find Fraser McKee and hopefully find him safe and well.

Lisa looked up at Dr Halliwell’s home. It was similar to the surgery, perhaps a bit smaller but still a sizable detached house with stained glass windows and black and white trim to the roof. Two lavender shrubs grew in huge urns either side of the door. Piano music could be heard coming from inside. The front garden was laid with paved brick. Everything said des res apart from the car at the far side of the drive which was badly crushed. The driver’s side, which was facing them, was caved in, the windows crazed, the front end crumpled. It looked just like someone had forced it against the boundary wall. Lisa glanced at Shap, what on earth was going on?

‘That’s not a bit of mindless vandalism, is it?’ Shap said. ‘That’s been rammed. It’s a total write-off. We’ve had Halliwell shot, McKee’s house damaged, now Halliwell’s car…’
              They walked up to the door and Shap knocked.

The music carried on and a woman opened the door. She was thin with ash-blonde hair, and was dressed in a pleated navy skirt and powder blue blouse, pearls at her neck and in her ears. A classic look, Lisa thought, timeless. The sort of thing you could get in the boring bits at M&S if you wanted. Never go out of fashion. Never in fashion either, as far as Lisa was concerned.

‘Mrs Halliwell? Norma?’
              ‘Yes.’

‘I’m DC Goodall,’ Lisa said, ‘and this is Sergeant Shap, may we come in?’
              The woman gave a frown. ‘They told Don they’d send someone tomorrow.’

What’s she on about, Lisa wondered, crossed wires somewhere?

Norma Halliwell showed them into the hallway, black and white tiles on the floor, polished wood banisters and thick cream carpets on the stairs. Cream, thought Lisa, how did they keep them clean?

‘Will it take long?’ Norma Halliwell said, ‘Only I have a pupil.’ She gestured to the front room where the piano music was playing.

‘Perhaps you could ask them to leave?’ Lisa said.
              Norma Halliwell made a little sound of surprise.

‘It could take a while,’ Lisa said.

For a moment it looked like she might argue the toss about it but then the woman said, ‘Very well.’ She disappeared into the room. The music stopped.

‘Have you got the tissues?’ Shap said, winding Lisa up. He’d know she was nervous, this the first time she’d given the death message. The sarky comments were maybe his way of trying to help – but they didn’t.
              Norma Halliwell came out with a young lad and saw him to the door. ‘Bye bye, Jordan, see you next week, we’ll make up the time then.’
              She closed the door and turned to Shap and Lisa. ‘Please, come in.’
              The front room was spacious and well-furnished with a piano and paintings and tapestries on the walls.

‘Please sit down, Mrs Halliwell,’ Lisa said.

Norma Halliwell sat on one of the winged armchairs. She looked bemused, almost smiling, as though this might be some weird game they were playing.

Lisa’s chest felt tight and her face warm as she said, ‘We have some very bad news, I’m sorry to have to tell you that your husband, Dr Halliwell, has been the victim of a violent attack.’

‘He’s been hurt?’ Norma Halliwell looked stunned, her mouth hung open.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lisa said, ‘he’s dead.’
              There was a beat, a little snort of disbelief from Norma Halliwell who frowned and shook her head quickly and said, ‘Sorry?’ as though she might have misheard.

‘Dr Halliwell is dead,’ Lisa said. She knew it sounded brutal but it was important to be clear, to leave no room for doubt.

‘Oh, no. Please, no,’ she said, ‘but how? What happened?’

‘He was found outside the surgery,’ Lisa said, ‘he appears to have been shot.’

‘Shot?’ Norma Halliwell seemed completely dazed. Lisa didn’t know how much time they’d have while the woman could still string two words together.

‘Mrs Halliwell?’ Lisa said, ‘Can you tell us when you last saw your husband?’

‘Erm, when he left for work, this morning. About, erm, quarter past eight,’ she said.

‘He took your car?’ Shap said.

‘Oh, yes. His … well, you’ve seen it?’ Norma Halliwell said. ‘I thought that’s why you were here.’

‘What happened to his car?’ Shap said.
              ‘We were asleep, last night, there was this almighty crash, terrible noise, then another and the sound of a car screeching away.’ Her voice shook. ‘Don went to look and someone had just driven right into it. Deliberately.’

‘Do you know who?’ Shap said.

Norma Halliwell shook her head.

‘Can you think of anyone who would wish him harm?’ Lisa said.

Norma Halliwell began to cry, covered her nose and mouth with her hands. ‘No,’ she sobbed.

‘Did your husband own a gun?’ Shap said.

‘A gun? No.’

              ‘I’m very sorry to ask you this but we will need someone to make a formal identification once the post-mortem has been completed. Probably later tomorrow,’ Lisa said.

‘No!’ Norma Halliwell gasped. ‘I can’t. I can’t do that. Don’t make me.’

‘Of course not,’ Lisa said. ‘I’m sure one of Mr Halliwell’s colleagues will be able to do it but we always ask next of kin first.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said, tears on her face, ‘I just can’t.’

Lisa try to persuade Mrs. Halliwell to contact someone, a friend or relative or neighbour to come and sit with her but she steadfastly refused. It felt awkward, cruel, leaving her alone after dropping such a bombshell but Lisa couldn’t force the woman against her wishes.

Outside Lisa looked again at the damaged car. ‘If the same person as shot him did that,’ she said, pointing to the car, ‘then we might be able to find material from the culprit, or at least his vehicle, here and at the crime scene.’

‘Not a bad idea,’ Shap said. He got out his phone and selected a number. ‘We want a forensic exam on the victim’s car,’ he said, ‘which is currently at the home address. Full lift of the vehicle to the garage then cross reference and see if there’s any evidence linking this to the murder crime scene.’