Taste of Blood

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jane put her empty plate onto the tray. The soggy tuna sandwiches and ham rolls with wet lettuce had been disgusting, but that hadn’t put Stanley off scoffing two of each. More importantly, they had gone through the files and discussed how they were going to approach the interview with Mrs Larsson. It was two o’clock and they had asked for her to be brought in at two fifteen, so they both took a bathroom break. Jane washed her face and hands and tidied her hair, but didn’t bother about her make-up. She needed something to calm her nerves, so quickly went out into the car park for a cigarette.

Sitting on a low wall, inhaling deeply, she mulled over the key questions she wanted answered. They now had a time frame and a motive, but they still had to prove Sebastian had been murdered.

Jane smoked her cigarette down to the filter, dropping it onto the ground before stubbing it out with the toe of her shoe. She thought about the pointed shoe marks on the brickwork. Looking down at the cigarette butt, she turned to face the wall she had been sitting on. She was wearing a pair of court shoes with small Cuban heels and slightly pointed toes. Jane had been quick to point out to Stanley that she recalled Kathleen describing Sebastian’s cowboy boots. She lifted her right foot and dragged it downwards against the worn red bricks. She then bent forwards, both hands leaning against the top of the wall and gave a sharp kick, once, twice. She stood back with her arms folded, staring at her handiwork. The two marks from her kicks were clear, but could you prove it was a particular type of shoe that had made them?

DC Burrows called out to her from the staff entrance, and she snatched up her bag and hurried towards him. ‘They’re bringing her from the cells any minute, and she’s a piece of work, I can tell you.’

‘Thanks, Bill. Stanley all set up, is he?’

‘Raring to go, ma’am. He was just finishing a call before going to the interview room.’

She passed him as he held the door open for her, letting it slam shut behind her.

‘Taking your temper out on the wall, were you?’

‘What?’

‘I saw you having a kick at it. Letting off steam?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I’ll bring her up then, ma’am. By the way, she’s got a solicitor from London, a sharpshooter called Ewan Thomas. The QC at his chambers is notorious.’

She gave Stanley a brief nod as she entered interview room one. He was sitting in his usual seat. Her files and notebook were on the table in front of her empty chair.

‘Got a bit of info for you,’ Stanley said. ‘I’ve been making numerous calls trying to trace that young Dr Wilde, but I finally got him. I asked him if he could recall what time Mrs Larsson returned to the hospital. You got me a bit fixated about our timeline.’

‘Don’t keep me in suspense, what did he say?’

‘Not a hundred per cent sure, but he thinks Mrs Larsson came back in the evening, around ten.’

‘OK, thanks.’ Jane put her jacket over the back of her chair, then started looking over her files one last time.

‘Bill came out to the yard to find me, saw me kicking the wall, asked me if I was letting off steam. I was actually doing a comparison with those marks on the wall at the Larssons’.’

‘And?’

She shrugged. ‘Let’s just say it was inconclusive. And we don’t even know if Sebastian was wearing cowboy boots since we haven’t traced any of his clothes. Bill also mentioned that we’ve got another solicitor and he’s a bit of a sharpshooter, or perhaps he said sharp-suited. Ewan Thomas — have you come across him?’

‘No. Are you going to take the lead?’

‘Yes, you do the usual, and...’ She was interrupted by a knock on the door. DC Burrows ushered in a distinguished-looking man, wearing a tailored pin-striped suit. He looked to be around fifty, with thick, iron-grey hair, bushy eyebrows and a deep tan. His dark-maroon tie had an emblem with two gold golf clubs.

‘Good afternoon. I am Ewan Thomas, representing Mrs Larsson.’ He waited for Mrs Larsson to sit opposite Stanley, making sure she was comfortable before he placed his briefcase beside his own chair.

Jane nodded. ‘This is Detective Inspector Stanley, and I am Detective Inspector Tennison.’

He frowned. ‘I would have preferred to have more time with my client, but as there have been no charges, I hope we can resolve this matter quickly.’ He spoke quietly but in a steely, aristocratic tone.

Stanley switched on the tape, repeating his name and Jane’s before the time and location, then read the police caution. Patricia Larsson sat straight-backed, with her hands folded in her lap. She had obviously made an effort with her hair and make-up, and was wearing a white silk blouse and a matching jacket with velvet trim.

Jane waited a moment, letting the tension build to upset Mrs Larsson’s poise. ‘I’d like to question you about the discovery of a severed head buried under the courtyard at Clarendon Court. It has been identified as belonging to Sebastian Hoffman, aged sixteen. Forensic examination has confirmed that the burial took place just over four years ago.’

Jane pulled out the photograph of Sebastian, sliding it forwards across the table.

‘Do you recognise the young man in the photograph, Mrs Larsson?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘Could you tell us his name, please?’

‘Sebastian Hoffman.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘His parents owned one of the properties in the courtyard.’

‘What kind of relationship did you have with Sebastian?’

‘I did not have a relationship with him, but we purchased the courtyard from his father, Victor Hoffman.’

‘You may not have had a relationship with Sebastian, but your daughter did, didn’t she?’ Jane said.

‘I think you’re being deliberately offensive, DI Tennison,’ Thomas said with a look of distaste.

‘Mr Thomas, I have to tell you that Mrs Larsson’s husband has already told us that their daughter was pregnant with Sebastian’s child, and that she then had a miscarriage.’

Thomas turned to Mrs Larsson, who nodded.

‘My daughter died of sepsis shortly after she miscarried. After the post-mortem and the coroner’s report, I was told that it could have been the result of a retained placenta after the miscarriage.’

She sat back, her mouth tight, and gave Jane a disdainful look. Mr Thomas patted her arm gently.

‘When did you last see Sebastian?’ Jane asked.

‘I did not see him after we discovered that he was sexually abusing our daughter. We were obviously distraught on discovering his relationship with Georgina, who was only fifteen years old. His parents then sent him to Mexico.’

‘I believe you and your husband assisted the Hoffmans financially to send Sebastian to Mexico, is that correct?’

‘I presume the money my husband paid them for the courtyard helped finance their son’s departure.’

‘Do you still maintain that you did not see Sebastian after he left?’

‘Yes.’

‘Shortly after the courtyard was purchased, you and your husband had the entire area tarmacked. The Hoffmans’ property was also boarded up ready for the new buyers to begin refurbishing. This would be early March four years ago. Is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘You subsequently discovered your daughter was pregnant, is that correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you still maintain that you did not see or have any contact with Sebastian after that?’

Mr Thomas leaned forwards. ‘Mrs Larsson has clearly stated that she has not seen this young man since he left England to live in Mexico. I am finding your line of questioning not only repetitive but unfathomable.’

‘I have proof that Sebastian didn’t stay in Mexico but travelled back to England after receiving a letter from your daughter. He also sent a postcard, not to your address but to a friend of your daughter, Kathleen Bellamy, a close neighbour in Clarendon Court. I may appear to ask repetitive questions, Mr Thomas, but that is because I know Mrs Larsson is lying.’

‘Do you have a witness who can verify my client met with this young man?’

‘I doubt under the circumstances anyone would have seen their interaction. Let me move on then. Can you tell me the date your daughter was taken into hospital?’

Mrs Larsson shook her head as if exasperated.

‘The evening of 14th March.’

‘Your daughter had been suffering from a high fever after the miscarriage. Despite your best efforts, the fever got worse, but it was not until a rash...’

Mrs Larsson interrupted. ‘I knew exactly what I had to do to bring down the fever. I had cared for my daughter her entire life. She had asthma attacks and eating disorders, and I cared for her the whole time. I resent your inference that I did anything wrong.’

‘You were protecting her from any scandal, weren’t you?’ Jane said. ‘Or were you more concerned with protecting yourself, trying to stop anyone discovering she had miscarried at fifteen years old?’

Mr Thomas spread his hands. ‘I am sorry, Detective Inspector Tennison, but this is uncalled-for harassment of my client. After suffering the loss of her only daughter, this line of questioning is quite unacceptable.’

Jane paid him no attention. Instead she flicked open her notebook and continued. ‘So, you called an ambulance on the evening of 14th March, and were then informed how seriously ill she was.’

‘Yes, she was taken into intensive care immediately.’

‘I believe you spent the night at the hospital, with your husband, is that correct?’

‘Yes, it was a terrible time, very distressing, but we still hoped she would recover.’

‘You had left your home wearing a dressing gown and slippers, obviously in haste to be with your daughter in the ambulance.’

‘Yes, that is true, I held her hand all the way. My husband followed the ambulance in our car.’

Jane turned over a page, then looked up. ‘The following morning, even with your daughter in intensive care, you were encouraged by your husband to return home. I have the time as around eleven o’clock, is that correct?’

‘Well, as you said, I had just rushed out to the hospital, still in my dressing gown and slippers and I hadn’t eaten, being up day and night with Georgina. My husband persuaded me to take the car and go home to get dressed.’

‘What time did you return to the hospital?’

Stanley had been watching her closely. Up to now her manner had been confident, even arrogant, but now she looked towards Thomas as if wanting him to interject on her behalf. He gave her a blank look, as if to say he could see nothing to object to in the question.

‘Could you please answer the question, Mrs Larsson? Your daughter was in intensive care, so you must have been eager to return as soon as possible. You left the hospital at eleven to shower and change your clothes, and it was no more than a twenty-minute drive. What time did you return to the hospital?’

‘Later that afternoon.’

‘How much later?’

Thomas finally found something to object to. ‘This aggressive questioning is becoming too much. Mrs Larsson has already explained that she returned home to change her clothes, as she had been at the hospital all night, and then returned to see her daughter as soon as possible.’

‘I have a statement from a witness that in fact Mrs Larsson did not return to the hospital until later that evening, at ten o’clock. Which means, discounting the time driving back and forth, she was absent for nine hours.’

‘My daughter died that night!’ Mrs Larsson snapped.

‘I am aware of that, but could you please explain what occurred during those nine hours.’

Mr Thomas turned towards Mrs Larsson, who was plucking a tissue from the box on the table. He obviously expected her to reply.

‘Was Sebastian Hoffman at your property that night, Mrs Larsson?’

He was about to interject when Mrs Larsson began speaking.

‘Yes, he was.’

Jane tried to keep her expression neutral and her voice calm. ‘Go on.’

‘I had changed and showered before going into my daughter’s bedroom to take a clean nightdress for her, and the window was open. I went to close it and was stunned when I saw he was about to climb in. I suppose he had to be equally shocked because as I approached, he clawed at the windowsill, then fell backwards. I screamed, then saw him crashing below into the table on the patio. By the time I had run down the stairs and out into the garden, he was lying covered in shards of glass. He had blood coming out of his mouth and his neck was broken. There was nothing I could do. It was an accident.’ She paused, looking at Jane. ‘There you have it.’

Jane tapped her file with a pencil. ‘So, you returned home, showered and got changed, when this accident occurred. But that leaves hours before you returned to the hospital, so did you call an ambulance, a doctor...?’

‘No, I did not. I was obviously already in a very distressed state, and this felt as if it was tipping me over the edge. I became panic-stricken because at that moment I didn’t know what to do. I did stem the bleeding with a towel, but a piece of glass had cut his neck wide open. There was no pulse. He was dead.’

Jane nodded to Stanley to take over. He jotted down a note before speaking. ‘Mrs Larsson, you first said Sebastian’s neck was broken and then a moment later...’ he ran his pencil down the page and looked back to her, ‘. . . you said a piece of glass had cut his neck open.’

‘If that is what I said, that’s what I remember.’

‘Could you just indicate to me where you saw the cut to his neck, a cut severe enough to almost decapitate him?’

She half turned in her chair to face the wall beside her, drew back her hair and then touched the side of her neck.

‘Mrs Larsson, you are indicating that the cut was high up, almost under the jaw line, is that correct?’

‘No, lower down, and his head was at an angle. I also never said it decapitated him, you said that. I said it was a very deep cut.’

‘Thank you. So, after this accident happened, you eventually returned to the hospital. Did you tell your husband about finding Sebastian?’

‘No, because when I arrived he was very distressed. Our daughter’s condition had worsened and we were told there was little hope of her recovering. We were together when she died later that night. There was nothing we could do.’

‘So you left Sebastian Hoffman’s body where he had fallen?’

‘Yes, I had covered him with a blanket.’

‘How did your husband react when he was confronted by the dead boy?’

‘He was like myself, as I said earlier, already very distressed, in fact he was hysterical. He demanded that I stay in my bedroom until he had decided what to do.’

‘Like call the police?’ Stanley said sharply.

‘No, no, we talked about that but we both felt it would be... unhelpful.’

‘Unhelpful? A sixteen-year-old boy was dead,’ Stanley said sharply.

Mrs Larsson glared at him. ‘He was the reason my daughter was dead. We had attempted to avoid any scandal as she was only fifteen years old. We could have been accused of taking revenge. There were no witnesses to what happened. We thought we would be arrested.’ She turned to Mr Thomas again.

He nodded and turned to Jane. ‘Do we need to continue, DI Tennison? My client has admitted being present at the unfortunate accident.’

Jane gave him a small, frosty smile.

‘Mrs Larsson still needs to account for the considerable period of time between when she claims the accident occurred and when she returned to the hospital. First, I want to show you a photograph of how the severed head was found.’ She pushed the photograph across the table. ‘You can see hemp sacking wrapped around the head and tied with thin rope. We have confirmation that the cloth and rope belonged to Mrs Larsson’s neighbour, Mr Martin Boon. He has admitted to wrapping the victim’s head and burying it in Clarendon Court’s courtyard, which, as you are aware, belongs to Mr and Mrs Larsson.’

Thomas was about to interrupt but she held up her hand. ‘Please let me finish, because I want you to look at the next photograph of Sebastian Hoffman’s severed head. As you can see it is tightly wrapped with silver duct tape.’

He stared at the photograph, not shocked but obviously perplexed. Again, as he was about to interject, Jane forestalled him by turning over the third photograph.

‘The third photograph shows the skull and the remains of the victim’s neck. After forensic testing it was determined that decapitation had been executed with a saw, at the third vertebra, leaving tiny cut marks to the bone. You just demonstrated, Mrs Larsson, that the glass had cut Mr Hoffman’s neck higher up, “cut wide open” as you put it. But as you can see from the photograph, that could not have been correct, as there is no damage to the vertebrae that remained intact. However, we do have a fourth photograph showing clear evidence that blunt force was applied to the lower base of the skull.’

Mr Thomas looked unimpressed. ‘I think Mrs Larsson has clearly stated that the young man fell from the open bedroom window, so surely it is very likely that the blunt-force damage would have occurred when he landed on the table.’

‘And considering what state I was in at the time, asking me to remember exactly where I saw the cut to the neck is ridiculous.’

Having regained her confidence, she gave Jane a tight-lipped smile.

Jane stacked the photographs like a pack of cards.

‘What time did you return from the hospital with your husband?’

‘Oh, my goodness, here we go again, how many times do I have to repeat that my daughter had just died, and both my husband and I were grief-stricken.’

‘Mr Boon has told us that your husband contacted him that same night and was, as you described, in a distraught state. However, that was because he was asking him to assist in the dismemberment of Sebastian Hoffman’s body.’

‘That is not true, that is a lie.’

‘But, Mrs Larsson, you stated that your husband told you to go to bed, that he would take care of the situation. So were you present when Mr Boon came round that night?’

‘No... no, I was not.’

‘Martin Boon even described the kind of saw that was used, a Gigli saw.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

Jane had the faxed pages ready, showing the various types of Gigli saw. She passed them over to Mrs Larsson, who pushed them back across the table without looking at them.

‘It is a saw that was used for amputations in both world wars,’ Jane explained. ‘It’s still used by some surgeons today. It is also used by campers for cutting wood.’

‘Is this saw in your possession, Inspector Tennison?’ Thomas asked bluntly.

‘It has not yet been recovered. Mr Boon said that later that same evening, Edward Larsson came to see him again. After he was offered a substantial amount of money, he agreed to bury the head, and it was left in his kitchen. Mrs Ellen Boon admitted to seeing it in the same location, their kitchen. He also stated that he cut some hemp sacking to put the head in and tied it with rope. He then kept the head in his garden shed until he was given twenty-five thousand pounds in cash.’

‘Inspector Tennison,’ Thomas began, ‘everything you have just described involved Edward Larsson and their neighbour, Mr Boon, but cannot be connected to Mrs Larsson as she was not present.’

‘She still needs to explain what she was doing during the time between when she left the hospital and when she returned.’

‘What are you inferring occurred?’ he asked.

‘Before her husband’s business became successful, Mrs Larsson assisted in wrapping items to be forwarded to buyers, and she was therefore adept at using duct tape. Martin Boon could not identify the victim because his head was already bound with duct tape. If you recall from the photograph, it had to have taken considerable time, the tape being wound around so many times that when the pathologist attempted to cut through the tape it had formed a quarter-inch-thick shell.’

‘Inspector Tennison, may I ask if you found any fingerprints on this duct tape?’

‘No, we did not.’

‘Then I’m afraid all you have is supposition.’

‘But if I am correct, then Sebastian Hoffman was still alive when your client found him, and was suffocated.’

Thomas pushed back in his chair, shaking his head. He was about to say something derogatory when Stanley took over. He pointed at Mrs Larsson. ‘I think you were so enraged on seeing Sebastian at your daughter’s bedroom window, you pushed him, and kept on pushing until he lost his footing and fell.’

‘This is preposterous, do you have a single witness to back that up? Mrs Larsson clearly stated how shocked she was on seeing this boy, who was obviously as shocked as her when caught breaking in. Both you and Detective Inspector Tennison are constantly directing unproven, unsubstantiated accusations against my client, who has to my mind been completely honest about how the accident occurred and at a time when her only child was dying.’

Patricia Larsson dabbed at her tearless eyes, and Jane found herself wanting to reach over and slap her. Stanley was becoming equally frustrated. Jane sipped her beaker of water, getting her thoughts in order before continuing. She took more photographs from her file.

‘Mrs Larsson, before your daughter’s funeral, the men working on the courtyard were instructed to stop as the hearse and other vehicles would have damaged the freshly laid tarmac. This left an area in front of the two newly built houses, your property, Mrs Larsson, and Mr Boon’s. In this area there were two potholes, one considerably larger than the other.’

Jane passed a photograph of the courtyard across the table, showing the potholes and the discovery of the sacking bag.

‘You can clearly see the burial site, inside the taped-off crime scene.’

‘Are we to presume this is also the location of the victim’s torso?’ Thomas asked.

Jane held up a hand for him to wait until she had finished.

‘I am sorry if this upsets you, Mrs Larsson, but do you recall your daughter’s weight when she died?’

Mrs Larsson looked at her blankly. ‘No.’

‘Georgina was four feet eight inches tall, and when she was examined at the post-mortem, her frame was described as skeletonised, weighing just three stone ten pounds.’

Stanley was listening intently. Jane had made no reference to this when they had worked through the files. Jane removed further photographs as she continued.

‘The attendant at the hospital mortuary also remarked on the light weight of the deceased, saying he assumed it was a small child. Surely at some point, Mrs Larsson, you were made aware of your daughter’s weight, were perhaps even questioned about it?’

‘I have already explained about my daughter’s condition, how she had been suffering from an eating disorder for many years. This was exacerbated by discovering she was pregnant, and then suffering a miscarriage. I have had many years of heartbreak. Perhaps you are not aware of just what lengths the young sufferers of this condition go to, to avoid detection.’

‘I am sure it must have been very difficult,’ Jane said. ‘I believe you chose a casket for your daughter’s remains, when she was collected from the mortuary immediately after the coroner’s report was finalised. The casket was then brought to your home on 19th March, while the funeral arrangements were being finalised. The same company returned to collect the casket on 21st March.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘So your daughter’s coffin was at your home for three days and nights before the funeral.’

Mrs Larsson took a tissue from the box, making a show of dabbing her eyes, as if hardly able to deal with the memory. Stanley glanced at Jane. She had never mentioned the casket, let alone showed him any photographs of it. He was also watching Mr Thomas, who was looking at Jane, then at the photographs she had withdrawn from the file but had not yet turned over. He appeared to be trying to assess what was next in store. You and me both, thought Stanley.

Jane slowly turned over three large photographs of the coffin. One had the measurements added in felt-tipped pen; one was a side view, showing the heavy brass handles and clasps. The last showed the casket open with its white satin interior.

‘Is this the casket you chose, Mrs Larsson?’

‘Yes, I believe it could be.’

‘You would agree that the casket is exceptionally large, considering the deceased was only four feet eight inches tall and weighed less than four stone.’

Mr Thomas pushed his chair back. ‘I fail to see what this has to do with the death of Sebastian Hoffman. This whole interview is becoming a farce.’

‘Just bear with me a little longer, Mr Thomas,’ Jane said in a calm voice. She turned to Mrs Larsson. ‘Did you love your daughter, Mrs Larsson?’

Mrs Larsson flushed. ‘How dare you even ask me that! I have had enough. I am not prepared to remain here another moment. I expect you, Mr Thomas, to put an end to this immediately, to have the audacity to ask me why I chose to bury my beloved daughter in the finest...’ She snatched at the photograph and waved it in front of Jane.

For the first time Jane raised her voice. ‘You didn’t bury her, Mrs Larsson; you had her cremated. And I believe you chose this specific coffin because it was large enough to contain the torso of Sebastian Hoffman as well as the remains of your daughter.’

Mrs Larsson pushed her chair back and stood up, throwing the photograph down. ‘That is a lie, that is all lies!’

‘Sit down, Mrs Larsson,’ Stanley said firmly.

‘No, I will not, I am leaving, I am not listening to any more lies.’

She then put both hands on the table leaning forwards towards Jane. ‘Do you think that I would bury my beloved daughter with the bastard I blame for her death? He raped a fifteen-year-old child!’

Jane remained unfazed. ‘You didn’t bury her; you had her cremated. No grave, no memorial. Sit down, please, Mrs Larsson.’

Mr Thomas reached out to take Mrs Larsson’s arm, but she jerked his hand free before sitting down.

He took a moment to compose himself. ‘Detective Tennison, I am requesting that this interview should be suspended. That last accusation beggars belief, made with no evidence whatsoever. I was also made aware before this interview began that my client had been subjected to an horrific, emotionally distressing intrusion when forensics officers dug up her daughter’s urn. You are now adding insult to injury.’

Stanley decided to try and calm the situation.

‘I apologise again, as I did when I was present when this regrettable incident occurred.’

Jane calmly collected the photographs scattered over the table and placed them back in the file.

Mrs Larsson was now completely back in control. ‘It felt as if they had abused my simple need to be near to my daughter. It was incredibly traumatic.’

‘Of course,’ Thomas murmured. This time his comforting pat was accepted and she touched his hand.

‘Thank you. Please let this be an end. I really don’t think I can cope with any further questions.’

Jane closed her file. ‘Just one more, Mrs Larsson. What did you do with the contents of the urn?’

‘What do you think I did with them? I am waiting until I can find a suitable place for her to rest in peace.’

‘I doubt the bin would be that suitable a place, Mrs Larsson.’

It was as if a blast of ice-cold air had just hit the room. Mrs Larsson became rigid, her hands curled into fists as she spat out in a fury, ‘Just what exactly do you mean by that?’

‘It’s the truth, though, isn’t it, Mrs Larsson? You and your husband were so intent on emptying the contents of the urn into the trash bin in your kitchen, you didn’t notice there was a witness. I believe the only reason you didn’t also put Sebastian’s head in the coffin is because it would have added too much extra weight.’

Mrs Larsson glared at her. ‘You liar, you have lied and tortured me because that is not true. This so-called witness has to be lying because I did not do that.’

‘I am the witness, Mrs Larsson. I saw you both emptying the urn into the trash bin in your kitchen. I believe you were both afraid the contents might be examined because you had put Sebastian Hoffman’s torso into the casket that also held the remains of your daughter.’

Mrs Larsson’s scream was so loud that the interview door was opened a fraction by the uniformed officer outside. The terrible screeching sound continued as the hysterical woman launched herself across the table in an attempt to grab hold of Jane. She was held back by Ewan Thomas, who was struck and scratched across his face. She was kicking and screaming abuse, trying to overturn the table. Stanley quickly rushed round to help restrain her, but then as suddenly as she had started, she gave up, lifting both her wrists out in front of her. A shocked Ewan Thomas pressed a tissue to the deep scratch on his face as Stanley took out his handcuffs. Mrs Larsson was gasping for breath, slowly calming down, with a blank expression on her face. For the first time she was no longer putting on the act of a grieving mother, an act she had perfected over the years. As the pretence and bravado dissipated, it left a woman finally caught by her lies.

‘She won in the end, they burned together,’ she said bitterly. ‘Apart from his head, of course. That fool Martin Boon blackmailed my husband, then brought all this crashing down because of where he buried it.’

Jane stood up. ‘Mr Thomas, I must inform you that Patricia Larsson will be charged with the murder of Sebastian Hoffman.’

It was another two hours before Jane and Stanley were able to return to the incident room. Between them they prepared the charges for Martin Boon, his wife and Edward Larsson. They were just waiting for confirmation of the time they would be taken to the magistrates’ court the following morning. By now they were both utterly exhausted.

‘You certainly pulled a rabbit out of the hat with all the stuff about the ashes and the casket,’ Stanley said with a grin. ‘Might not be so easy to prove it all at trial, though,’ he added.

Jane shrugged. ‘We’ll be ready for it.’

‘One question, though. If she was smart enough to use the large coffin, why dismember the body?’

‘The weight of the head, Stanley. It might have just been enough to make somebody suspicious. You know, if Martin Boon hadn’t been so anxious, and with time against him because of the tarmac being finished, we would never have even begun the investigation.’

‘Right, they almost got away with it, if not for you. Oh yes, and there was that stroke of luck with that digger...’

She raised an eyebrow as she picked up her briefcase. ‘I would advise we make no reference to that as we never caught the burglars. Do you mind giving Hutton the details? I need to take off. There’s something I need to do before this hits the press. I’ll be in first thing in the morning.’