Head in the Sand (4 page)

‘Convenient,’ said Vicky Thomas.

‘Very. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sir,’ said Dixon, addressing DCI Lewis.

The post mortem was well underway by the time Dixon arrived at Musgrove Park Hospital. He had driven slowly in the hope that Dr Poland would start without him and his plan appeared to have worked. He had rung the bell and been let in by one of the technicians he had seen earlier carrying the black picnic box. He was shown through to an anteroom adjacent to the pathology lab and could see through viewing windows that Roger Poland was hard at work, dictaphone in hand. He could see Valerie Manning laid out in the slab.

Dixon watched the mortuary technician go through into the laboratory and speak to Dr Poland. The next thing he knew the intercom crackled into life.

‘Don’t just sit there. Come in. You won’t see anything from there.’

Dixon was grateful that he had not had much to eat all day. Monty had eaten half his sandwich at lunchtime and he had kept himself going since then with medicinal fruit pastilles. Being diabetic was a pain at the best of times but keeping his blood sugar levels up on days when he had no time to eat was always difficult. Fortunately, they were few and far between. Today it was a positive advantage. He took a deep breath and walked through into the lab.

‘What have you got then, Roger?’ asked Dixon.

‘Quite a lot, actually,’ replied Poland, ‘take a look at this for starters.’

Poland pointed to Valerie Manning’s neck. Dixon stepped forward. The sight that greeted him took his breath away. He stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

‘Sick is it?’ asked Poland.

‘Sickened,’ replied Dixon.

Valerie Manning’s eyes and mouth were now closed, affording her a measure of tranquility. Her head had been placed on the slab in its proper position on her body and she looked almost human again. Her charred and blackened body made a stark contrast to her white head and neck. Her lower legs and feet were also white and had clearly escaped the flames. She did at least appear at peace and Dixon was grateful that he could now refer to her as ‘
she
’ rather than ‘
it
’. He quickly regained his composure.

‘What am I looking at?’

Then the smell hit him. Burnt flesh and petrol. He turned away sharply and walked over to the window. It was closed.

‘Tracey, get Inspector Dixon a mask, will you?’

‘Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.’

‘Well, at least you didn’t pass out.’

The mortuary technician handed Dixon a paper mask. He put it across his nose and mouth and hooked the elastic over his ears.

‘There you go, you’ll be ok now,’ said Poland.

‘Right then, let’s try again shall we?’ said Dixon, ‘what am I looking at?’

‘The bruising on the neck. See it?’

‘Yes.’

‘A ligature of some sort. What sticks out is that it’s uniform in width. See that? My guess is a belt was used.’

Dixon nodded.

‘Look at this too.’

Poland stood at the end of the slab. He placed his hands either side of Valerie Manning’s head and turned it to the left. Dixon was standing to Dr Poland’s right. He looked away just in time.

‘See? There’s no bruising at the back of the neck.’

‘I see that, yes.’

‘It stops at the same point on either side. Have a look this side.’

Dixon walked around the back of Dr Poland while he turned Valerie Manning’s head to the right.

‘It does,’ said Dixon.

‘What does that tell you?’ asked Poland.

‘That the belt was used to tie her to something.’

‘That’s right. And we should be able to tell the width of whatever it was she was tied to by measuring the marks on her neck. It’s basic trigonometry, really.’

‘My money’s on the headrest in her car.’

‘That’s your department,’ said Poland.

‘What about the cause of death?’ asked Dixon.

‘There are two wounds, both of which would have killed her.’

‘Two?’

‘Yes. There’s the stab wound just below her left shoulder blade that penetrated her heart. A long thin blade, fish filleting knife or something like that.’

‘And?’

‘Her throat was cut.’

‘Before her head was severed?’

‘Yes, and using a different implement. That’s how I can tell.’

‘Show me,’ said Dixon.

‘I won’t ask you to look too closely. The head was severed using an electric blade. The cuts are uniform in their stroke and that could only have been done with some form of electric carving knife. In places though there’s a cut with no backwards and forwards stroke to it. It’s just a smooth sweep in one direction. That would have been made when her throat was cut. I can tell you her killer is right handed from that too.’

Dixon was making notes. ‘Would an electric carving knife be powerful enough?’ he asked.

‘A top of the range one would be, or a fish filleting knife possibly. They’re pretty powerful these days. It’ll all be in my report,’ said Poland. ‘There’s also a wound to the back of her left hand. Much of the flesh has been burnt away but it’s still visible. A cut or slash. Something like that.’

‘So, what actually killed her?’ asked Dixon.

‘The stab wound to the heart. From the blood loss, her throat was cut first. She was then stabbed in the back for good measure.’

‘Why do you think the first cut was made so low on her neck? She’s been decapitated almost at shoulder level, which is unusual, wouldn’t you say?’

‘That’s easy, Nick. The belt was still around her neck at the time so her throat was cut below it. Her head was then severed using the same incision. Make sense?’

‘It does,’ replied Dixon. ‘And you think it’s an electric carving knife?’

‘Yes, something like that. Definitely not a chainsaw. You can tell them a mile away.’

‘So, she’s in the driver’s seat of a four door Fiat Uno. Her killer is already sitting in or jumps into the back seat behind her. A belt is put around her neck tying her to the headrest.’

‘Very possible, yes,’ said Poland.

‘She’s then forced to drive out to Berrow Beach where her throat is cut below the restraining belt. She’s then stabbed in the back, for good measure, as you put it.’

Dixon paused.

‘It would be interesting to know if she was stabbed through the car seat, Roger.’

‘I can look for fibres when I open her up.’

‘I’ll get the forensic team to look for any marks on the seat too. The cover has been burnt away but there may be a mark on the frame,’ said Dixon.

‘All sounds good to me,’ said Poland.

‘Then the restraint is removed and her head severed. The car is then torched.’

‘That certainly fits with what I’ve found so far. I’ve still got a few hours work ahead of me though.’

‘And the wound on the back of her hand could have been inflicted either when she was taken or during the drive to the beach?’

‘It could.’

‘I’ll leave you to it, then, Roger, if you don’t mind,’ said Dixon, removing his mask. ‘We must have that beer some time too.’

‘That would be good, Nick,’ replied Poland.

Dixon called in at Berrow Church to find the area still sealed off, with a panda car in attendance. He arrived home just after 8.30pm, fed Monty and sent text messages to Dave Harding and Mark Pearce calling a briefing at Burnham-on-Sea Police Station for 8.00am the following morning. He then sent a text message to Jane Winter asking where she was.

He felt sure that he heard the tell tale ‘bleep bleep’ of a text message arriving. Seconds later there was a knock at his door. It was Jane. She held up a large white carrier bag full of silver trays.

‘Chinese?’

‘You, Jane, are a mind reader.’

Three

Dixon left home at 7.15am and called at Berrow Church on his way to Burnham-on-Sea Police Station. The fingertip search of the churchyard and golf course was due to start again at 8.00am. He spoke to Police Sergeant Dean who was coordinating the search.

‘How many men have you got, Sergeant?’

‘Thirty, Sir.’

‘Dogs?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good. Check the undergrowth between the Church and the green, will you? And around the car park.’

‘What are we looking for, Sir?’

‘Weapons, obviously. A knife and possibly also an electric carving knife or similar. Also a belt and a bag of some sort. Her head must have been carried here in something.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Let me know when you’ve finished and I’ll let the golf club know.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And ring me immediately if you find anything.’

Dixon arrived at Burnham-on-Sea Police Station just before 8.00am. It was a red brick building on the Burnham Road, mid way between Burnham and Highbridge. Jane Winter, Dave Harding and Mark Pearce were already there. As was DCI Lewis. Dixon wondered how he knew.

‘Let’s get on with it then, shall we?’ said Dixon.

The incident room was the old CID room on the second floor of the police station. It was used primarily for storage now that there was no permanent CID presence in Burnham, although some effort had been made to clear it for the current investigation. There was a white board and computers had been put in the afternoon before too.

Dixon pinned an enlarged version of the photograph of Valerie Manning holding the Yorkshire terrier on the whiteboard.

‘This is our victim. Mrs Valerie Manning. Aged 68. Lives at 7 Manor Drive, Berrow with her husband, Peter, and son, Simon. Dinner lady at Berrow School. The formal identification will take place later today. The son’s agreed to do it hasn’t he, Dave?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good. Married in name only, as we know. More on that in a minute. It’s all over the press now and the nationals have picked it up too. It’s out there that she was decapitated but nothing else. Let’s keep it that way, please.’

All agreed.

‘Right then, who spoke to Diane Weller, the lady who found the car?’

‘We did,’ said Dave Harding.

‘Anything?’ asked Dixon.

‘No, not really. She was out with her dog, as usual apparently, saw the car in the distance and walked over to it. The tide was in round the wheels, which attracted her attention. When she had finished screaming she dialled ‘999’. She was in a bit of a state to be fair to her. She saw no one, heard nothing. There were no footprints or tyre tracks in the sand either. The tide was on its way out at the time.’

‘Is that it?’

‘She gave a statement but that’s the gist of it, yes, Sir.’

‘What about the greenkeeper, Jane?’

‘Much the same. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. He was out raking the bunkers and found her head. Simple as that, really.’

‘Ok, what about the husband, Jane?’ asked Dixon. ‘What did he have to say for himself?’

‘He was quite open about their situation, I think. He admitted that the marriage was over and that they were trapped in the house because they couldn’t sell it. Not at a sensible price anyway. It had been very difficult at first, when divorce proceedings started, but things had calmed down recently.’

‘What does "very difficult" mean, I wonder?’ asked Dixon.

‘He admitted hitting her on a couple of occasions. Her solicitor applied for an injunction against him at one stage too. That was a while ago though.’

‘We’d better have a word with her solicitor,’ said Dixon.

‘I’ve got her details,’ said Jane.

‘What about his alibi? Dave, you spoke to the son.’

‘Holds up. At home all evening apparently, watching the golf. It was the HSBC Champions, whatever that is. They both sat up and watched it until it finished at around midnight and then he went to bed. The son stayed up to watch a film and went to bed at about 2.30am.’

‘She was killed some time between 11.00pm and 2.00am so it’s possible if the husband had gone out after midnight...’

‘The son was adamant he would have heard his father go out, Sir, and says that he didn’t,’ said Mark Pearce.

‘Ok, we’ll take that at face value for the time being. I don’t think the husband did it anyway,’ said Dixon.

‘Neither do I,’ said Jane. ‘Even though his reaction to the news of her death was a bit...odd.’

‘So, her movements on Saturday night,’ said Dixon. ‘She went to the theatre in Bristol with two friends. We need detailed statements from those friends. I expect they met somewhere and went in one car. Where did they meet? I’m guessing that Valerie Manning left her car in a car park somewhere or perhaps outside a friend’s house. CCTV will be crucial. We also need to look at every single traffic camera on their route between the end of the show and 2.00am. Dave and Mark, that’s your job. Ok?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ in unison.

Dixon turned to DCI Lewis.

‘They’ll need some help with that, Sir, and we need some help with answering the phones.’

‘Leave it to me.’

‘Some time between leaving her car and getting back into it at the end of the evening, someone got into the back seat and lay in wait for her. Or…’ Dixon paused, ‘…they jumped her when she got back to her car. They could also have got into the back of the car when she was on her way home. While she was at traffic lights, perhaps, but this is less likely. Depending on her route, we may get a look at this person on one or more of the cameras. Better still there may be CCTV of the car park itself.’

‘Do we know what happened then, Sir?’ asked Pearce.

‘We do. Some of this is guesswork and I am waiting for Dr Poland’s final report but it looks as though a belt was used to tie her round the neck to the headrest of the car. She was then forced at knifepoint to drive to Berrow Beach. There’s a superficial injury to the back of her left hand that may have been caused either when she was taken or during the drive to the beach.’

‘Superficial?’ asked Pearce.

‘Compared to being decapitated, yes. Once on the beach, the killer slit her throat and then stabbed her through the heart. That was the fatal wound. It was a thin blade, possibly a fish filleting knife, and I expect we will find that she was stabbed through the car seat. That’s to be confirmed.’

‘Who the fuck would want to do that to a school dinner lady?’ asked Pearce.

‘Could she not have met the killer on the beach, Sir?’ asked Harding.

‘Possible but unlikely. Why else the neck restraint? According to Dr Poland, the belt was round her neck for some time. If the killer had met her on the beach, she would have been stabbed straightaway, surely?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘We’ll know soon enough though,’ Dixon continued. ‘The belt was then untied from around her neck and she was decapitated using an electric carving knife or saw of some sort. Not a chainsaw. Dr Poland is quite definite about that. Her head was then taken, possibly in a bag, and the car set fire to.’

‘We need to find that belt and bag,’ said DCI Lewis.

‘We do, Sir,’ replied Dixon. ‘As well as the knives. I briefed the search team this morning on my way here.’

‘Good.’

‘The killer then cut across the golf course, dumped her head in the bunker and left the scene in his car, which had been left in the Church car park, hidden from view. That last bit is supposition, of course.’

‘Sounds plausible,’ said Lewis.

‘Right then, let’s get on with it. Jane, we need to speak to her solicitor and her sisters as well. She has two, I think. See if the Family Liaison Officer can set that up. We’ll pay a visit to Berrow School too. Meet back here at 6.00pm.’

‘There’s something about sitting outside a head teacher’s office that just makes you feel guilty, isn’t there?’ whispered Dixon.

Jane Winter rolled her eyes.

They had arrived at Berrow Primary School just after 9.00am and were now waiting outside the office of the head teacher, Ruth Smith. She was currently dealing with a set of parents and raised voices told Dixon that their child was not top of the class. The meeting ended abruptly. The door to Ruth Smith’s office flew open and a young couple made for the exit at the far end of the corridor, closely followed by the head teacher. She turned to look at Dixon and Jane Winter.

‘And you are?’

‘Detective Inspector Dixon and Detective Constable Winter. Avon and Somerset Police,’ replied Dixon, producing his warrant card. Jane Winter did the same.

Ruth Smith was in her early fifties, slim, with short greying hair. She wore black trousers and a purple blouse.

‘Oh, yes, of course. Come in. Sorry about that. Nobody likes being told their child is a bully, do they?’

‘No,’ said Dixon.

‘Do sit down. I am Ruth Smith, the head teacher here. Horrible news about Val. Her husband rang me yesterday. I still can’t believe it. Terrible.’

‘Yes. How long had she worked here?’

‘About three years, I think. Ever since she retired.’

‘Retired?’

‘Yes, she wanted to keep busy, she said.’

‘And she retired from?’

‘Nursing. She was a nurse.’

‘Do you have a personnel file for her, please?’

‘Well, I...’

‘This is a murder inv...’

‘Of course it is. Give me a second.’

Ruth Smith opened the top drawer of her desk and produced a set of keys. She then went to a filing cabinet in the corner of her office behind her desk and removed a thin file. She handed it to Dixon. ‘Nothing very exciting, Inspector. Just a copy of her application form and contract. I don’t recall any issues arising that would be recorded at all.’

‘Was she here on Friday?’

‘Yes. It was a normal day.’ Ruth Smith’s eyes welled up with tears. ‘A perfectly normal day.’

‘Who did she work with?’

‘We had two dinner ladies. Val, of course, and Anne Brooks. They were both here on Friday.’

‘Is Anne here now?’

‘It’s a bit early but she might be in the kitchen.’

‘I’d like to speak to her, if I may?’

‘Yes, certainly.’

‘This may sound like a daft question to ask of a primary school dinner lady but can you think of anyone who may have wished to do her harm? A parent perhaps?’

‘You obviously never met her, Inspector.’

‘Sadly, no.’

‘It’s difficult to imagine meeting a nicer person. She never had a falling out with anyone, let alone one of the parents.’

‘I understand. We have to ask.’

‘Of course, you do,’ replied Ruth Smith. ‘Is it true she was de...decap...?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid it is,’ replied Dixon.

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Have the children been told?’ asked Jane Winter.

‘No, not yet. I am liaising with the Local Education Authority about how best to do that.’

‘Can we speak to Anne now, please? I’d also like to keep this file, if that’s alright,’ said Dixon.

‘Er, yes, that should be fine. Follow me.’

Anne Brooks was chopping lettuce in the kitchen. She was in her early sixties with tightly permed dark hair.

‘Annie, these are two police officers. They’d like to have a word with you about Val...?’

Anne Brooks immediately burst into tears. She began sobbing uncontrollably. Her legs went from under her and she fell forward onto the work surface. Ruth Smith put her arms around her while Dixon fetched a chair from the adjacent dining area.

‘Another time,’ said Dixon. ‘We’ll leave you to it.’

‘You’ll be back?’ asked Ruth Smith.

‘We will,’ replied Dixon.

They could hear Anne Brooks still sobbing as they walked along the corridor to the exit.

‘What did you make of Anne Brooks’ reaction, Jane?’ asked Dixon.

‘You’re not seriously suggesting...’

‘What? Two dinner ladies have an argument and one cuts the other’s head off? No, I meant did you think her reaction was genuine?’

‘Yes, I did, actually,’ replied Jane.

‘So did I,’ said Dixon. ‘Has the FLO set up a meeting with the sisters yet?’

‘I’ll check,’ said Jane, reaching into her handbag for her mobile phone.

Dixon drove along Coast Road and parked in Manor Way opposite Berrow Church. He could see the search still going on. He could also see three large white vans with satellite dishes on top, sign written BBC, Sky News and ITN. He could hear a helicopter overhead. He looked and could see that it was private rather than police. Probably hired by one of the news agencies to get aerial shots of the search, Dixon thought.

He could hear Jane’s telephone call coming to an end.