Head in the Sand (5 page)

‘Well?’

‘One sister lives in Brisbane,’ said Jane, looking at Dixon.

‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘The other lives in Woolavington.’

‘Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?’

‘No, but she’s agreed to see us at 10.30am.’

Lockswell Cottage, Woolavington, was a small double fronted stone cottage on the main road through the village. Dixon parked in Higher Road, a side road opposite the cottage, and watched the net curtains moving in the front window. He knocked on the door just before 10.30am. A small dog started barking.

‘Mrs Sheila Cummins?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Detective Inspector Dixon and this is Detective Constable Winter. You’re expecting us, I believe?’

‘Please, come in.’

‘I hope you don’t mind me saying so but you bear a striking resemblance to your sister, Mrs Cummins,’ said Dixon.

‘We’re twins, Inspector. Were twins, I should say. Not quite identical but almost.’

‘I gather you know what happened to Mrs Manning?’

‘Peter rang me last night, yes. Please sit down.’

The front door opened straight into the lounge. Dixon sat on an armchair. Jane Winter sat next to Mrs Cummins on the sofa, opposite a large open fire.

‘How would you describe your sister’s relationship with her husband, Mrs Cummins?’

‘I’m sure you know all about that already.’

‘We know what Mr Manning has told us but I would like to know what you think?’

‘It was good once. Then they got divorced. I know that he hit her although she always denied it. It was difficult with them being stuck in the same house.’

‘And recently?’

‘They’d arrived at an understanding. She kept out of his way and he kept out of hers. They lived separate lives, as far as one can living in the same house.’

‘And your relationship with her, how would you describe that?’

‘Not as close as we were once, I suppose. We grew apart as we got older. At least, that’s how it felt.’

‘Did you see much of her?’

‘Not recently. I can’t think why, really. And now it’s too late...’ Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

‘Jane, make Mrs Cummins a cup of tea,’ said Dixon.

‘No, I’m fine, really,’ said Sheila Cummins. ‘Did she suffer?’

‘No.’ Dixon lied again. ‘Tell me about your other sister.’

‘Emily. She’s our elder sister. She married an Australian in the early eighties and went to live out there. We rarely see her these days, for obvious reasons. I haven’t told her yet. She’ll want to come for the funeral.’

‘Did Valerie ever tell you she was in any sort of danger or in fear for her life, perhaps?’

‘What an odd question.’

‘It sounds it, I know. I’m just trying to rule things out at this stage. Can you think of anyone who may have wished her harm?’

‘Certainly, not!’ said Sheila Cummins.

‘What about her husband?’ asked Jane Winter.

‘No, surely you can’t think that?’

‘As I say, we are just trying to rule things out at this stage. Routine questions. By the book, as it were,’ said Dixon.

‘Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree there.’

‘And what about you? Are you married?’

‘My husband died two years ago. Prostate cancer.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘When you reach fifty, Inspector, have your PSA level checked at least once a year. My husband didn’t and paid the price for it.’

‘I’ll try to remember that,’ said Dixon.

‘Make sure you do,’ said Sheila Cummins. Tears began to stream down her cheeks again.

‘We’ve taken up enough of your time, Mrs Cummins. If you think of anything that might be relevant, anything at all, please give me a ring. Here’s my number,’ said Dixon, placing his card on the coffee table.

‘I will.’

Dixon and Jane Winter got up to leave. A Yorkshire Terrier came running into the lounge from the kitchen and jumped onto Sheila Cummins’ lap. It began licking the tears from her cheeks.

‘We’ll show ourselves out.’

‘C’mon, Jane, there’s a park over there. Let’s take Monty for a walk. We’ve got ten minutes.’

Dixon got Monty out of the back of the Land Rover and put his lead on. They crossed the road and walked the hundred yards or so along Lockswell to the small park.

‘What do you make of it then?’ asked Dixon, letting Monty off the lead.

‘I don’t think the husband did it, which leaves us with a primary school dinner lady, who everyone says is lovely, being stabbed to death and then beheaded. I don’t know, could it have been random?’ asked Jane.

‘No, it couldn’t. It’s Dixon’s law. There’s no such thing as a random killing.’

‘Dixon’s law?’

‘I made that bit up. But there’s always a reason…’

‘Always?’

‘Even a psychopath has a reason for selecting his victims.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘It may appear random, but there will be one somewhere, even if it’s twisted.’

‘True.’

‘Trouble is, it becomes much harder to find if it only exists in the killer’s head.’

‘No shit.’

‘It’ll be there though. We just have to find it.’

‘Where?’

‘Well, if it’s not in Valerie’s present, it must be in her past.’

‘Could the killer have intended to kill Sheila Cummins? They are almost identical twins after all?’

‘Mistaken identity, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve been watching too much telly.’

Jane nodded in Monty’s direction. ‘You have some clearing up to do.’

Dixon reached into his coat pocket and produced a small black plastic bag. ‘One of the joys of dog ownership. You get used to it.’

‘We do a lot of that in this job, don’t we?’

‘We do. We certainly do.’

Dixon walked across to the dog bin. He turned to see Jane throwing a stick for Monty.

‘Let’s get back to the station,’ said Dixon.

They walked back to the Land Rover. Dixon put Monty in the back, sat in the driver’s seat and was about to switch on the engine when his phone rang.

‘Dixon.’

‘It’s Sergeant Dean, Sir. We’ve found a bag in the undergrowth between the green and the church.’

‘Is it…?’

‘There’s blood, Sir. Lots of it. One of the dogs found it.’

‘Any sign of a belt?’

‘There’s a leather belt in the bag.’

‘We’re on our way, Sergeant, thank you.’

Dixon arrived at Berrow Church to find the Scientific Services van already there. He parked next to it and followed the track around to the right with Jane Winter. They walked up to the twelfth green and could see a group of officers standing on the path that led from the green back to the gap in the wall at the top of the churchyard. The undergrowth on either side of the path was thick and consisted of several large bushes, of a type that Dixon could not identify, and thick brambles. They appeared to form a circle with the interior being almost clear of all but long grass.

The officers stood back to allow Dixon a clear view into the undergrowth. An opening had been cut and he could see the senior Scenes of Crime officer, Watson, crouched over what looked like a black bag lying in the long grass.

‘What’ve we got then?’

‘A black leather holdall. There’s lots of congealed blood in it. We’ll get a sample straight off to Dr Poland for analysis but you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to guess whose it is.’

‘No,’ replied Dixon. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, there’s a brown leather belt in the bag. Not a pretty sight.’

Dixon turned to Jane Winter and nodded.

‘Any logos or anything like that?’

‘I can see a Fat Face label on the belt and the bag has a Footjoy logo on it.’

‘Our man’s a golfer then,’ said Jane.

‘Footjoy make ladies golf shoes as well, Jane,’ replied Dixon.

Jane Winter shrugged her shoulders.

Sergeant Dean appeared behind Dixon.

‘Mr Durkin has arrived, Sir, and would like a word.’

‘What have you got left to do, Sergeant?’

‘Very little, Sir. We’re almost finished and are just winding down.’

‘Has the undergrowth been checked that side?’ asked Dixon, pointing to the other side of the path.

‘Yes, Sir. We’ve had two dogs all over it.’

‘So, I can tell Mr Durkin we’ll be finished today and he can have his course back tomorrow?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Dixon walked back to the twelfth green. Paul Durkin was sitting in a golf buggy on the far side of the green. He got out and walked over to Dixon.

‘Haven’t you finished yet, Inspector?’

‘Almost, Mr Durkin. We’re just winding down, as it happens. There’ll be some delay though. We’ve found some items in the undergrowth back there that will need to be removed carefully. That may take some time.’

‘Not into a third day, surely?’

‘Mercifully, not. The course can reopen tomorrow.’

‘Thank heavens for that. This has caused a great deal of inconvenience, Inspector.’

‘When I catch the killer, Mr Durkin, I’ll be sure to pass that on.’

Dixon walked back over to where Jane Winter was standing.

‘C’mon, Jane, let’s go and get something to eat.’

‘Where?’

‘The Berrow Inn will be full of journalists. How about the Red Cow?’

It was just after 2.30pm when Dixon rang the bell on the locked front door of Lester Hodson Solicitors in Bridgwater. It was a two storey double fronted Georgian building that had been converted into offices. The large front door was painted black and there was a polished brass plaque on the wall to the left, listing the partners in the firm. The lock gave out a familiar buzzing sound prompting Jane Winter to push open the door. Once inside, a sign with an arrow pointing to the left led them to the reception desk.

‘Detective Inspector Dixon and Detective Constable Jane Winter to see Anne Barton, please?’ said Dixon. He produced his warrant card, as usual.

‘Is she expecting you?’

‘One of her clients was murdered yesterday so she should be, yes.’

‘No, I mean do you have an appointment?’

‘I think you’ll find we don’t need one.’

‘Do sit down,’ said the receptionist.

‘We’ll stand if you don’t mind. I don’t expect Miss Barton to keep us waiting.’

The receptionist picked up the telephone and dialled a three digit extension number. She spoke so quietly that Dixon thought it unlikely that the person on the other end could have heard what was being said. Dixon certainly couldn’t. He was assured that Miss Barton would be straight down to see them.

A few moments later a door at the back of the reception area opened.

‘Can I help you?’

Dixon turned to see a tall, smartly dressed woman wearing a grey two-piece suit and white blouse. She had short blonde hair and was, Dixon thought, in her late forties.

‘I am Anne Barton. You’ll be here about Valerie Manning?’

‘Yes. Is there anywhere we can...?’

‘Of course. Do come through.’

Dixon and Jane Winter followed Anne Barton through to an interview room behind the reception area. Anne Barton and Jane Winter sat either side of the desk. Dixon stood in the window looking out at the River Parrett, which ran behind the offices.

‘You’ll appreciate that I am bound by client confidentiality, Inspector.’

‘I’m afraid all of that stuff goes out the window in a murder investigation, Miss Barton.’

‘Well, I shall certainly help in any way that I can.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Is it true that she was...?’

‘It is, I’m afraid.’

‘Good God.’

‘We are just building a picture of Mrs Manning at this stage, and I have a fair idea of what you are going to say, I think. But can you tell me about her relationship with her husband, Peter?’

‘He was a bit of a bastard, actually. At least to begin with. He wanted the divorce. Valerie didn’t. He’d met someone else. He eventually got her to start the divorce proceedings based on his adultery.’

Jane Winter was taking notes.

‘It was a very difficult time. He hit her a few times and, in the end, I made an application for an injunction to force him out of the matrimonial home.’

‘What was the outcome of that?’

‘He persuaded her to drop it before the hearing and things have been largely quiet ever since. I think it caused the break up of his new relationship, actually.’

‘The injunction?’