The Murder House (19 page)

Normally, Oakley approved of Taylor's open-book policy, but the Butterworth incident had made him aware of how dangerous gossip could be, and he wondered how long it would be before sensitive information was leaked to the press. His main suspect for that remained Wright, and he was not pleased to see the sergeant sitting in the front row at the briefing, as if he imagined himself to be a vital participant.

Taylor called the meeting to order. ‘This won't take long, then you can all get off home. Unfortunately, progress has been slower than we hoped, but tomorrow is Monday, so hopefully we'll start getting answers as people return to work. Clare will summarize what we know so far about the victim and the circumstances of his death, then Neel will tell us what we've got from forensics. I'll conclude by outlining the leads we need to follow over the next few days. Clare.'

‘We still don't have a definite ID, but the most obvious possibility remains Marko Kovac, and we have made initial inquiries as if he were the victim. No one at the university knew him very well, as he tended to spend all his time working with some specialist equipment. No one has come up with a reason as to why anyone should kill him.'

‘What about his research?' asked Oakley. ‘Nanotechnology.'

Davis looked puzzled. ‘Yes – the science of doing things small. What of it?'

‘The science of engineering or manipulating matter at an atomic or molecular level,' corrected Oakley.

‘Sounds small to me,' muttered Evans.

‘There's both an industrial and military demand for increasingly powerful technology using smaller component parts,' Oakley went on. ‘Imagine how many circuits you could cram into a mobile phone if each was the size of an atom. It's a highly competitive field because there's huge commercial potential, and money is invariably a good motive for murder.'

‘So Kovac's discoveries might have led another scientist to kill him?' asked Davis. ‘Or perhaps he killed a rival. Of course, there's also the fact that he was in Macedonia when it was exploding. He may be suffering from shell-shock, or whatever it's called these days.'

‘Post-traumatic stress disorder,' supplied the lugubrious Merrick.

Davis shuffled her notes. ‘According to the university, Kovac arrived on the ninth of July, and rented a house from Academic Accommodations. We've not managed to contact anyone from the company yet. That's first on my list for tomorrow. Kovac was due to leave Bristol on Tuesday, the thirty-first of July. Dave will tell you what he's done about that.'

Merrick stood, clearing his throat. ‘I checked all flights in and out of Albania for the past three months, but Kovac wasn't on any of them. Trains are cheaper, so he probably travelled overland. The problem is that you just get on them – you don't need to book.'

‘You
can
, though,' Oakley pointed out. ‘It's the only way to make sure you get a seat.'

‘Well, Kovac didn't – not in June, July or August,' said Merrick. ‘There's also the possibility that he came by bus. Again, there's no way to tell. I checked with immigration, but Kovac has an open visa for six months, which means he can come and go as he pleases during that time. However, they've got no record of him doing either.'

‘What are you saying?' asked Oakley. ‘That he never came and so he never left?'

‘I'm saying we can't confirm his movements,' said Merrick. ‘Passport control may have just checked his visa and nodded him through. I've got an English-speaking officer from Tirana to look into him. I'm going to call him again tomorrow. Interpol have nothing, so Kovac's not on the FBI's most wanted list or anything.'

‘Thanks, Dave,' said Davis as Merrick sat down. ‘Mrs Greaves from number eleven saw Kovac on Monday the thirtieth, when he told her he was going home the next day. No one saw him after that afternoon, and no one saw him leave the house. However, there was no suitcase or luggage, so we can't dismiss the possibility that Kovac really has gone home and that we've got someone else's body here.'

‘Anything else?' asked Taylor.

‘Yes, sir. No one heard or saw anything unusual, except Mrs Greaves, who claims a woman walked down the street in a headscarf on the Tuesday night. It was too hot for such attire, so it stuck in her mind. I suggest we put this on the back burner, as it won't be easy to look into, and I'm not convinced it's relevant. But if any of you see a dark spotted scarf, bear it in mind. And that's it. We've got no reports of unusual activity, and no strange cars. Neel.'

‘Forensics are slow at the moment – just like they've been since the lab in Chepstow closed down. Everything has to go to Solihull lab, which is overworked and underfunded, thanks to the government's austerity measures. I've been told not to expect anything from DNA for at least a couple of weeks—'

He was interrupted by a chorus of indignant objections. The loudest came from Superintendent Taylor. ‘I trust you told them this is a
murder
enquiry?'

‘Of course, sir, but it's not the only one, and the rather rude clerk who deigned to speak to me on the phone said it's low priority as our victim has been dead a while and the case isn't politically sensitive.'

‘Cheeky bastards,' muttered Taylor. ‘So what
did
you get from them?'

‘That the house was thoroughly cleaned with bleach, which will have destroyed a lot of evidence. And we've got hundreds – literally – of partial fingerprints that will take someone weeks to go through.'

‘What about the time of death?' asked Davis. ‘Any progress there?'

‘We'll know more when we get the insect report, but at the moment it's been set roughly between Saturday the twenty-eighth of July and Saturday the fourth of August. Obviously, it would be nice to narrow it down, as if it was
before
the thirtieth, when Kovac talked to Mrs Greaves, we'll know he was either the killer or an accomplice.'

‘There's another possibility,' said Davis. ‘Someone stored the body in the house after Kovac left – a body that might have been dead for several days.'

Oakley shook his head. ‘FSS managed to establish that the victim was killed in the house. In the sitting room, to be precise.'

‘It was the kitchen,' said Wright belligerently. ‘FSS is wrong.'

‘The victim was
found
in the kitchen,' said Oakley. ‘But he died in the lounge – his saliva was found there in the kind of pool that suggests that's where he breathed his last. However, the pattern of fluids that leaked from the body suggest he was moved to the kitchen not long after he died. The angle of the blow suggests he was kneeling or crouching and was hit from behind. So we have three possibilities: the dead man is Kovac; Kovac killed the victim and abandoned the body; or Kovac left the house as planned and the murder occurred shortly after.'

‘Which of these do you favour?' asked Taylor.

‘First or third,' replied Oakley. ‘I don't see Kovac leaving a body in the house he rented, knowing it will be traced to him as soon as the body is discovered.'

‘He might think he's safe in Albania,' Merrick pointed out. ‘And he's probably right. The police there haven't been very cooperative yet.'

Oakley looked down at his notes and moved to the next item. ‘Fibres: we've got plenty, but they're unlikely to give us any decent leads. What they
will
do, however, is allow us to match evidence from suspects, so they'll come into their own in time.'

‘Good,' said Taylor, nodding. ‘What about the plastic and the tape around the body?'

‘Both commonplace, so it'll be hard to find where they came from. However, there are several partial prints on the tape, so let's hope FSS can give us a list of possible matches in time.'

‘Here are our priorities for tomorrow,' said the superintendent. ‘First, visit Academic Accommodations to see what they can tell us, and press the Albanian police to check whether Kovac is sitting at home playing with his molecules. Second, start looking through the missing person's file to see if our boy matches any outstanding reports. Third, I want the plastic and tape looked into—'

He was interrupted by Oakley. ‘We can try, sir, but FSS said the best we can hope for is to match the jagged edge of our piece to the original roll. But miles of the stuff must be sold every day—'

Taylor cut him off in turn. ‘Then we'd better get going. I want all local garden centres, DIY centres and so on checked out. Fourth, I want the door-to-door enquiries widened to a larger area. I've marked it off on the map. Fifth, I want someone looking into this scientific mumbo-jumbo to find out whether it's worth killing for; I also want someone to investigate Kovac's mental health. Finally, we have someone's child, husband, or brother here, so I want tact and discretion. I don't want sensitive details leaked to the press. Next briefing is at six tomorrow evening. Questions?'

There were none.

‘Get off home, then, and be back bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at seven thirty tomorrow.'

That night I went to meet Colin. I was in a strange mood, half elated and half scared, as though I'd somehow weathered a great test. At first, I hadn't been sure whether it was more difficult to know details of the case or to remain in ignorance. Now I knew – I'd rather know. It was the uncertainty that was worst, and each day seemed that much more precious to me because of it. I appreciated my walks to and from work, and I relished the sun on my face. I looked forward to meeting Colin, too. At least until my thoughts returned to that vile thing at the mortuary.

I sat in the bath and scrubbed and scrubbed, but I could still smell James – a thick, rank, filthy stench. It was how I felt inside: dirty, rotten, corrupted. I called my mother and listened to her chat about nothing, silent tears rolling down my cheeks when I realized that sweet lady would become a pile of slimy, oozing flesh one day. The thought stayed with me all evening, and I felt a nagging unease, as though I wanted to take hold of everything I loved and protect it.

Colin was nice. I told him that I'd been at a murder scene, but he must've sensed that I wanted to forget about it, and didn't press me for details. We had a drink in the Hole in the Wall, an atmospheric old smugglers' haunt, then walked hand-in-hand along the harbour.

Being summer, it was busy. Lights twinkled on the black waters, streaming out from the cafes, pubs and art galleries that line it. There was the smell of the water mixed with the aroma of frying onions from a hamburger van, and someone was lighting fireworks. They popped and echoed, sending sparkling rockets high into the sky and releasing them in veils of golden stars. Colin's hand felt warm and dry. I held it a little harder, trying to put away my black thoughts for a while.

‘Helen? Is that you?'

I almost leapt out of my skin when I heard Oakley's voice. What was he doing here? Why was he impinging on my few moments of peace? Was there nowhere I could be safe? He was with a woman – Catherine, I assumed. She wasn't pretty, but her face had a lot of character. She wore a loose skirt of some light material, and a white blouse that looked cool and stylish. He was still wearing the clothes he'd worn to work, and I wondered whether she'd noticed the smell. Perhaps that was why they were standing some distance apart.

‘Sir,' I said, attempting to appear normal. ‘Off duty at last?'

He nodded, and turned to the woman. ‘Catherine, this is Helen Anderson, the hero of the day.'

‘Hero?' asked Colin, raising his eyebrows. ‘She didn't tell me.'

‘Too modest,' said Oakley, smiling. I could only stare at my feet while he told Catherine and Colin all about the stone – the one I'd used to murder Colin's school friend. I briefly considered shoving him into the water, just to stop him talking. I hoped he couldn't sense the growing anger in me.

‘My hero,' said Colin, hugging me affectionately.

The three of them chatted for a few minutes, and on another occasion I might have suggested going for a drink. Now, I just wanted to go home.

‘We should go,' I said, tugging Colin's arm.

‘Yes,' agreed Catherine, wrinkling her nose. ‘I think there's a broken drain nearby. Or perhaps it's the docks. Regardless, there's an awful smell tonight.'

‘
I
had a bath,' I informed Oakley pointedly.

I saw the shock on his face as it registered that he should have done the same before spiriting his lady off for romantic walks in the moonlight. ‘God!' he muttered, raising his sleeve to his nose.

‘So, that's what it is,' laughed Catherine. ‘At least it's not permanent.'

They made their farewells and walked away. I heard them laughing, seeing the funny side of the whole thing. That was probably one of the advantages of dating a nurse, who'd be used to unpleasant smells. Colin was less stoic, and informed me that he'd rather I was late than appear smelling like something two weeks dead. I told him I'd bear it in mind.

We went to my house and made love until I was so tired I couldn't keep my eyes open. I clung to Colin all night, and whenever I woke with the spectre of the black mess in front of me, he was there, all warm, alive and comfortable. In the morning, I awoke feeling more refreshed than I had done in days. Perhaps it was because I'd faced my nemesis and come through it, or perhaps it was because Colin was there. I asked him if he'd come back that evening.

As far as Maureen Paxton was concerned, the police had forgotten her son. She demanded to see an officer more senior than Oakley and was taken to Taylor, whom she did not like. He told her that people walked out of their lives for all manner of reasons, and that as there was no reason to think James was going to harm himself or anyone else, he could disappear if he wanted to.

Then she read about the body in Orchard Street in the papers. At first they said the corpse was unidentified. Then they said it was possibly an Albanian professor who'd gone missing at the time of the murder. But Maureen felt a gnawing sense of unease. James wasn't likely to have been in such an insalubrious part of the city, but his work did oblige him to meet some unpleasant people. What if he'd been visiting a client? Moreover, his meteoric rise had made enemies of some colleagues – instead of admiring him, they hated him.