Hidden Killers

CHAPTER TWELVE

An old Victorian archway covered the rather majestic entrance into the stone cobbled yard of the mortuary, where the mortuary vans and ambulances were parked. The reception area was housed in a modern extension, and was accessed through two large glass doors. Inside, the floor was covered with blue linoleum and there was a small reception desk, which was invariably empty as they were always short-staffed and there was never an employee to work behind it.

A row of straight-backed chairs lined one wall and the overhead lights gave the reception area a yellowish hue. Although the reception was some distance from the rooms used for post-mortems and the chill section where the bodies were kept, a faint smell of Dettol permeated the area. The smell became much stronger along the corridors.

Jane had arrived five minutes late and Barry Dawson was already in the reception sitting on one of the hard-backed chairs. He was obviously nervous and as soon as she passed through the double glassed entry door, he rose to his feet. Jane gave him a friendly smile of encouragement. Having now been to the mortuary on numerous occasions she was familiar with the routine, but she had never previously handled a viewing alone.

‘I just have to check if there is an assistant mortician available.’

‘Do I wait here?’

‘Yes please, Mr Dawson. Have a seat and I will come straight out.’

Barry sat back down, hunching his shoulders. One knee jerked as he kept his eyes on the door through which Jane had entered. It took longer than she had said as there was no assistant around, but eventually it was organized and the numbered drawer 312 listed and checked as holding the body of Shirley Dawson. Jane opened the door and gestured for Barry to join her. He hurried towards her and Jane again gave him a nod of encouragement as she let him pass her before closing the door behind them.

Barry was standing ramrod straight as Jane explained quietly that he just had to confirm his wife’s identity. They would usually have taken the body into the small chapel next to the mortuary, but due to staff shortages they would have to see Shirley in the chill room. The assistant slid open drawer 312. The body was covered with a white shroud, which was slowly eased back. Shirley’s eyes were closed, her hair had been combed neatly away from her face and, apart from the stitched wound in the centre of her forehead, it was as if she was sleeping. Barry looked down. He ran his fingers on his right hand over his lips, swallowed and Jane could hear his sharp intake of breath.

‘Is this your wife, Shirley Dawson?’ Jane asked quietly.

‘Yes… yes, it’s Shirley.’

Jane gave a small nod to the assistant who covered Shirley’s face and slid back the drawer. Barry remained standing and she had to gently take his arm and guide him out of the room. Back in the reception area he started to cry.

‘They will be doing a post-mortem this afternoon, Mr Dawson, and-’

‘I need to go to the flat to get things for Heidi. Can I go back there?’ She was surprised by his question.

‘I’ll contact you as soon as we have clearance.’

He nodded and wiped the tears on his face with the back of his hand. He was obviously deeply distressed.

‘Would you like me to get you a taxi?’

‘No… no, I need to get some fresh air, walk for a while. I can’t quite cope at the moment.’

Barry left and she saw him hurrying down the road, only then remembering that she should have told him about using the camera she had found in his flat. She was disinclined to hurry after him so instead she turned in the opposite direction to make her way to the Dawsons’ flat to meet up with DS Lawrence.

Jane had become more resilient since her initiation in the morgue with DCI Bradfield. She had been at the identification of the murder victim Julie Ann Collins. Nevertheless, it could not be described as easy and she completely understood why Barry Dawson had been so distraught. By the time she got to the Dawsons’ flat it was almost four o’clock. She buzzed the entry bell for the top flat. The lock clicked back loudly as she entered the hall and made her way up the stairs. The front door to the flat was wide open and as she stepped through the entrance there was the flash of a camera.

‘Hi… it’s only me,’ she said, as Lawrence turned and smiled.

He had long, thick blond hair with a centre parting. It often fell forward so he had a habit of continually running his fingers through his hair to keep it off his face. Lawrence was always well dressed, but was rather old-fashioned in comparison to many of the Met police. He wore cord trousers and cotton shirts, with a tweed jacket that had leather elbow pads. He often had a woollen tie drawn down to the second button of his shirt. Jane had also noticed that his brown brogues were always rather scuffed, but despite his traditional appearance he had a very youthful manner.

‘I expected you earlier… I had to get the keys from the duty sergeant as Gibbs said they would be left there for me. I’ve been taking some decent photographs. I picked up the ones you took with the Kodak but they’re not that clear.’ He indicated a brown envelope left on the small coffee table as he packed his camera away.

‘I’ve done a good check over the place, and if it’s OK with you I’ll be getting back to the station.’

Jane was sifting through the photographs. As Lawrence had pointed out, they weren’t good quality.

‘This one I took of the dressing gown on the bathroom floor,’ she said, holding up the photo.

‘What about it?’

‘Well, it’s just odd… if you were taking a bath and wearing the dressing gown, that would come off first, then the underwear. But the knickers and bra were folded underneath it.’

Lawrence glanced at the photo. ‘Well, it’s on a hook in the bathroom now.’

‘Yes, I did that.’

He cocked his head to one side. ‘Shouldn’t do that… I mean, not that I think there’s anything suspicious. Maybe that’s just the way she undressed.’

Lawrence stood beside her as she thumbed through the rest of the photographs until she reached one with a woman turning towards the camera.

‘Is that the victim?’ he asked, and Jane shook her head.

‘No, I don’t know who she is. There were a few photographs already on the roll of film… same woman again… and another one.’

Lawrence leaned closer as she fanned out the three photographs. They all seemed to have been taken as if the woman was unaware of being photographed.

‘Maybe a friend? But it’s odd that the woman is never looking into the camera and seems unware she’s being photographed. Mind you, I’ve seen a lot stranger… and some pornographic ones that beggar belief…’

‘Did you really mean it when you said you were becoming fed up with working as a forensic liaison?’

‘Yes. We’re always strapped for finances and there’s a lot of new scientific experiments coming on board. I’m finding it more and more frustrating because I spend most of my life checking fingerprints or, like today, looking over a crime scene that basically isn’t one. I’ve applied to work with CID but the reality is forensic sections are deemed more important, and probably they are. It’s just frustrating because I’d like to become more involved in the investigations instead of being stuck in a lab twenty-four-hours a day.’

Surprised at his outburst, Jane asked, ‘But what you do is becoming more and more vital to investigations, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, I know… but try telling that to DI Moran… even DCI Shepherd isn’t that encouraging. You know, the only person who really drew me in, and encouraged me, was Len Bradfield. After what happened to him I sort of allowed myself to get buried in the lab. Part of that was because of the guilt, and I still feel it.’

‘Guilt?’

‘Yes. I had the chance to stop him going ahead with the operation. I knew early on that he was taking risks, but he persuaded me… he even had me on the team. I’ve never felt such adrenalin… Facing the outcome has been hard because I keep on thinking that if I had intervened he might still be alive.’

Lawrence smiled sadly, running his fingers through his hair as Jane replied.

‘But you can’t blame yourself, Paul. If you do, then how do you think I feel? If I hadn’t recognized that voice on the tape, if I hadn’t identified the bank robber and his family, the operation would never have taken place.’

He touched her shoulder. ‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Yes. I don’t dwell on it, I can’t… but it took me a long time to get over the awful feeling of guilt.’ Jane thought about the way her heart would suddenly beat rapidly, and her breath quicken. How reminders, even seeing Lawrence today, brought back the feeling of helplessness and panic that she’d had to teach herself to control.

‘You are very young, and were just a probationary officer then. I think both Spence and I carry the responsibility within us because of our positions… it rears up when you least expect it. All I really want to do now is get onto an investigation and prove myself capable of handling it.’

There was a moment of embarrassed silence, as if he felt he had disclosed too much of himself, and he gave another sad smile.

‘Sorry… didn’t mean to lay that on you, Jane. Can you lock up and organize getting the key back to Mr Dawson?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Lawrence left as Jane put the photographs and negatives into her bag. She felt depressed, but at the same time pleased that he had confided in her as she had always liked him. Now even more so. She checked the time and realized she would soon be off duty, so might as well return to the section house. As she locked the front door and headed down the stairs the door of the flat below opened and a thick-set, swarthy man wearing a fawn donkey jacket gestured towards her.

‘Are you anything to do with the flat above? Only I need to check something out in their bathroom.’

Jane introduced herself and explained that there had been a tragic incident and that Mrs Dawson had been found dead.

‘What?’

‘Mrs Dawson had an accident and-’

‘Is their bath water running?’

She found it extraordinary that he showed no reaction whatsoever and said sharply that she was certain the bath water was turned off.

‘Well, it might be turned off now but you come and take a look at this. I don’t have a key to the Dawsons’ flat because they own the place but I might need to put in a claim for water damage.’

Jane followed the objectionable man into the flat, which was stripped down to the floorboards with ladders and tins of paint lined up in the entrance hall.

‘I’m having the place refurbished and redecorated but this is really bad damage.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?’

‘Eric de Silva. I own this place, plus the head lease of the entire property. Come on through here.’

Jane dutifully followed him into the bathroom, which was directly below the Dawsons’ bathroom.

He pointed up to the ceiling. ‘Look at that. This was only painted a week ago.’

The ceiling was wet and a pinkish water mark covered one side of the wall. He then pointed at the floor.

‘See, it’s dripped down the wall onto the floor. That’s water damage. Their mains water tap needs to be turned off in case this is from their water tank as it’s directly above this bathroom.’

Jane agreed but refused to hand over the keys to him. She couldn’t wait to get away from him and returned upstairs saying she would double-check that all the taps were turned off.

The bath taps were off, and the kitchen taps likewise. She located the water tank and mains tap in the airing cupboard and made sure these were also turned off. Returning to the bathroom she stood in the doorway. Something didn’t make sense. The water marks in the flat below were obviously recent, and when she checked the water level rim still obvious in the bath it was in no way reaching the waste pipe or top of the bath. The pinkish colour of the water down in the flat below could be caused by the blood from Shirley’s head wound. But when her body was found there was no way the bath had overflowed. Jane had pulled out the plug so she knew exactly what level the water had been.

Bending down she could see that part of the board surrounding the bath was quite loose, and when she gave it a hard tug a section moved back easily. Jane jerked and pulled again and this time the old cheap surround came away. Leaning it against her legs she could see that there were pools of water still beneath the bath. The corking was sodden and wet. She propped the board back and decided that she needed to speak with De Silva again. She hurried down the stairs but the flat door was locked and there was no answer when she knocked. She went back upstairs to get her handbag and was about to leave when she saw the tea mug left on a side table. It had been brought in for her by the duty officer, from the next-door neighbour, when she was first there. She picked up the mug to return it, locking the door behind her.

Jane headed down to the basement flat and rang the doorbell. Mr Cook opened the door. Jane explained she was returning the mug.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s the policewoman, love. Come on in, the wife’s on sentry duty.’ He laughed, opening the door wider and gesturing with his hand for Jane to follow him.

‘I really have to get back to the station.’

‘Be nice if you gave her an update on what happened next door.’

‘Yes of course, you were very helpful, Mr Cook,’ Jane said, as she went into their sitting room. His wife was in her wheelchair positioned by their basement window. This was the room where Barry had been with the baby and his mother-in-law.

Mrs Cook wheeled herself round to be able to face Jane, and indicated for her to sit on the sofa.

‘Make us a cuppa, will you love?’

Her husband nodded and walked out. Jane perched on the edge of the sofa and gave Mrs Cook a few details about the incident, and explained that they were waiting for a post-mortem report but it appears to have been a tragic accident.

‘Shockin’… I had spent ages in the kitchen cos poor Barry was in here in a terrible state. Then he had the baby with him howlin’… give me a headache. Mind you, it was more action than I seen for years. That poor girl, drownin’ like that.’

‘Did you know her well?’

‘No, just to give a wave. I sit by the window… not that I can see that much, bein’ in the basement. But I always saw her with the dog of a morning. Sometimes she’d bend down and give me a smile.’

‘She went out regularly in the morning, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, always about ten o’clockish, baby in the pushchair… pretty little thing… tragic now, havin’ no mother. But he’s a good lad.’

‘How well did you know Barry?’

‘Not well. He’s come in a few times, but they were just a young couple. He always said if we ever needed him he’d be over, but my husband takes care of everything.’

Mr Cook walked in with a tea tray and a packet of ginger biscuits.

‘I really can’t stay, but thank you.’ Jane half rose, wanting to leave.

‘Did you tell her about the door?’

Mrs Cook waved her hand. ‘No, I hadn’t got around to it. Being in the basement we can hear it, you know, if any of the tenants next door buzz their door open. What they do is ring the bell for who they’re seein’ and they can buzz the front door open from their flat.’

Jane had used it and Lawrence had opened the door for her. Mr Cook came back in with a teapot.

‘I don’t know if she did go in but I heard the buzz. What time did I say it was?’

Jane was becoming impatient and looked at Mr Cook.

‘She’s talking about the morning, you know, when Barry found the poor girl.’

‘That’s right… I was sitting here having my morning cup of tea, in me dressing gown. I can tell if there’s any post for us or if the paper boy’s delivered, but it was about eight, was it?’

Mr Cook poured the tea, and held up the milk jug. Jane smiled, thanking him.

‘So, at eight o’clock…’

‘Yes, or maybe a bit earlier. First, there was the woman, up and down, up and down… you can hear quite clearly down here… you know, footsteps on the pavement outside, click, click, click…’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow. You saw a woman outside?’

‘That’s right. She went back and forth, and then I heard the clunk from next door… you know, like I said, as if someone had let her in.’

‘Can you describe this woman?’

‘No, love. Look for yourself, I can only see the feet and up to the knees.’

‘You are sure it was a woman?’

‘Yes, dear… men don’t go wearin’ high-heeled black patent leather shoes now, do they?’

Jane smiled but the shoes caught her interest. ‘Was there anything else you noticed about the shoes? Were they unusual in any way?’

‘Expensive I’d say, pointed at the front and with very high heels… maybe four or five inches.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Cook, you’ve been very helpful. Just to make sure I’ve got it right… you saw this woman pacing up and down, then you heard the buzzer from next door, and it was around eight o’clock on the morning that Shirley was found…’

‘Yes, dear, that’s right… I don’t know if it means anything.’

Jane smiled politely and thanked the couple again for their hospitality. As it was already after 6 p.m. she didn’t return to the station but went back to the section house. In her room she spent time compiling her notes before getting an early night. As she reflected on her findings, the Cooks’ information about the mystery caller and the water-stained ceiling, she knew it wouldn’t make her popular but tomorrow morning she would discuss her concerns with DCI Shepherd.