Dead Level (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 5) (5 page)

Harry Unwin was standing under an umbrella, enjoying a cigarette and watching a large cattle truck trying to reverse in the narrow lane to allow three tipper lorries through, when Janice and Jane came out of Grafton’s bungalow. They ran across the road and sheltered under the lychgate. Harry saw them and walked over.

‘Anything interesting?’ he asked.

‘Small car or van, possibly a diesel. That’s it, really.’ replied Janice.

‘Shouldn’t we get some traffic officers down here?’ asked Jane, looking down the lane.

‘They’ll sort themselves out,’ replied Unwin.

‘Where next then?’

‘Edna Freeman. Moorland House. It’s the last one on the left down the lane.’

‘How far?’

‘About two hundred yards.’

‘We’ll drive down,’ replied Janice, looking at Jane. ‘Anyone get to that farm on the other side of the river, Harry?’

‘I’ll send someone over there now.’

‘Go yourself. It’s the nearest property to Waterside Cottage and the most important.’

‘OK.’

Janice took her car keys out of her handbag, pointed them at her car in the lane opposite and pressed the button on the key fob.

‘Did that open?’

‘Couldn’t hear a thing,’ replied Jane.

Janice pressed it again and this time the hazard lights flashed. ‘That’s it.’ She then ran across the road and jumped in. Jane followed.

‘Lazy bugger,’ said Janice. ‘I thought I’d give him something to do instead of standing around watching the world go by.’

Jane smiled. Janice appeared to have got the measure of Harry.

They drove along the lane and turned into the gravel drive of Moorland House. It was a large red brick house with sandbags across the front door and the double garage. Jane pressed the doorbell, noticing a small grey box mounted on the wall next to it.

‘A key safe. She has carers in by the looks of it.’

Janice nodded. She was leaning in towards the door, trying to shelter under the small canopy above it. They waited, looking for any sign of movement behind the frosted glass in the front door.

‘Try it again,’ said Janice.

Jane rang the bell again. Janice stepped back into the rain and looked up.

‘No lights on upstairs.’

Then she walked across the lawn and peered in through the front window.

‘Oh, shit.’

Janice ran back to the front door and tried the handle. The door swung open.

‘What’s up?’ asked Jane.

‘I think she’s dead.’

Janice stepped over the sandbags into the hall. Jane followed. They peered into the lounge and saw Mrs Freeman slumped in her chair, her head tipped back and her mouth open. Jane walked
over and
leaned in close to her. Then she touched her on the back of the hand.

‘Mrs Freeman?’

‘Is she all right?’ asked Janice.

‘She’s asleep, you twit.’

‘Oh, for f . . .’ Janice was stopped mid-sentence by Mrs
Freeman
stirring.

‘Sorry, dear, I . . . I must have nodded off.’

‘That’s OK,’ replied Jane. ‘We’re police officers. We’ve come to have a word with you. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, fine. Would you like a cup of tea?’ asked Mrs Freeman. She pressed the button on her remote control chair, which tipped her forward slowly into the standing position.

Jane frowned at Janice.

‘Yes, please.’

‘Let’s go and sit at the kitchen table.’

They followed Mrs Freeman as she shuffled along the hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. Janice sat down and watched her struggling to hold the kettle under the tap.

‘Here, let me,’ said Jane.

‘Thank you, dear.’

Mrs Freeman sat down at the head of the table, while Jane finished filling the kettle.

‘The mugs are in the cupboard in front of you.’

‘I understand you heard something last night, Mrs Freeman,’ said Janice.

‘A motorcycle, dear,’ replied Mrs Freeman.

‘What time was it?’

‘A bit after two perhaps.’

‘And what were you doing up at that time?’

‘I wasn’t. I was lying in bed.’

‘Upstairs?’

‘No, I sleep in the dining room now, dear. I can’t do the stairs anymore.’

‘What about a stair lift?’ asked Jane.

‘Over my dead bod . . .’ Mrs Freeman stopped mid-sentence. ‘Sorry, that sounds awful.’

‘And the dining room is at the front of the house?’ asked Janice.

‘Yes.’

‘Did you have your hearing aid in?’ asked Jane.

Janice looked at her and raised her eyebrows.

‘No, I take them out at night.’

Jane placed a mug of tea in front of Mrs Freeman and then passed another mug to Janice.

‘How much can you hear without them?’ asked Janice.

‘I get by. They’re more to help me filter out background noise.’

‘So, you’re lying in bed without your hearing aids in. It’s a bit after two and you hear a motorcycle in the road outside.’

‘That’s right, dear.’

‘How d’you know it was a motorcycle?’

Mrs Freeman stood up and shuffled back down the hall. Jane watched her disappear into what she assumed had once been the dining room and was now her bedroom. Janice leaned across the table.

‘How’d you know about the hearing aids?’

‘There’s a letter on the hall table from Hidden Hearing.’

Mrs Freeman reappeared shuffling along the hall, this time using a Zimmer frame with what looked like a photo frame in a net slung from the handles. She paused next to Janice and handed the photograph to her. Janice looked at it and then passed it to Jane.

It was an old black and white photograph of a motorcycle display team riding in a pyramid. Jane counted fifteen men riding five motorbikes.

‘That’s my husband on top,’ she said, smiling. ‘Twelve years he was in the Royal Artillery motorcycle display team. They rode the BSA 500 back then. That photo was taken in 1961.’

‘Is he . . . ?’

‘He died eight years ago. But I know the sound of a motorbike, dear.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I know the sound of a motorbike.’

Janice turned left out of Mrs Freeman’s drive and continued along the lane towards Waterside Cottage. The police car blocking the lane beyond the farmyard on the right had gone, as had the tents in the road and front garden, although the lane was blocked at the far end by a Scientific Services van parked outside the cottage. Janice parked behind it. Jane jumped out of the car, ducked under the police tape and ran up the garden path.

‘Don’t come in.’

She recognised Donald Watson’s voice coming from behind the front door and waited in the porch, watching the rain running down the stained glass windows.

‘All right.’

Jane pushed open the front door and peered inside. Watson was kneeling on an approach plate in the hall.

‘What’ve you got?’ asked Jane.

‘Lots of blood but it looks like it’s all hers. The usual fibres and hairs, but they’re likely to be hers too, or the husband’s. The only really useful stuff is the vomit and cigarette butts. They’ve gone off to PGL.’

‘PGL? Why not our own labs?’

‘Closed for Christmas. We’ll hold the rest of the samples for them but the vomit and fag butts were urgent. I checked with DCI Lewis.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No.’

‘How much longer will you be?’

‘We’ll be gone by 4 p.m.’

‘OK.’

‘Happy Christmas.’

The words took Jane by surprise. She had forgotten it was Christmas Eve. Maybe it would be happy for some, but not for others, and certainly not for Tom Perry. For her, it would be a working Christmas. That was the best that could be said for it. But that was the luck of the draw, and it could be worse. It could always be worse.

‘Yeah, right. You too,’ she said, closing the front door behind her.

Janice was having an animated telephone conversation in the car, and the rain had eased off, so Jane squeezed past the van and walked up onto the riverbank. The water was almost up to the top of the bank and swirling as it roared past the cottage, but the far bank seemed lower so if it burst its banks it would flood the fields on the opposite side first, surely? Jane looked upstream, past
the farm
on the far bank, to the bend. It had been impossible to tell the height of the banks further upstream from the satellite images on Google Earth. She thought about Mrs Freeman and Mr Grafton, with their sandbags.

The sound of the car horn brought her back to the present.

‘Who was that on the phone?’ she asked, putting her seatbelt on.

‘My husband,’ replied Janice.

Jane watched in the wing mirror as Janice reversed back along the lane to the farmyard.

‘At least Nick’s in the job so he’ll understand.’

‘He will,’ replied Jane, imagining Dixon sitting by the fire in the Red Cow.

Chapter Five

J
anice and Jane arrived back at Express Park just after 2 p.m. to find DCI Lewis waiting for them just inside the staff entrance. They took the lift to the first floor and he waited for the doors to close.

‘Well?’

‘You know about the vomit and cigarette butts?’ asked Janice.

‘I do.’

‘They’re on their way to PGL. In the meantime, we’ve got two residents who heard a vehicle of some sort at about twoish.’

‘Who are they?’

‘An elderly man living on the corner who was up having a pee. He says it may have been a car or van and possibly a diesel. Then we’ve got an old bird further along the lane. She didn’t have her hearing aids in but swears blind she heard a motorbike.’

‘Timing?’

‘About the same.’

‘There’s ten minutes or so between them, assuming they’re both right about the time,’ said Jane.

‘Which is unlikely,’ continued Janice.

The lift doors opened and they stepped out onto the landing.

‘So you think they both heard the same vehicle?’ asked Lewis.

‘Must have done,’ replied Janice. ‘But the DNA will soon tell us.’

‘Perry will be arriving in the next half an hour or so and his parents are waiting down in reception.’

‘Shall I go down and see them?’ asked Janice.

‘I’ve done it,’ replied Lewis. ‘And I’ve spoken to Vicky Thomas in PR. The press haven’t got hold of it yet and we’re gonna say nothing until they do. I’m hoping we’ll have a DNA match by then and can tell ’em we’ve made an arrest.’

‘What about the post mortem?’ asked Janice.

‘Poland’s doing that this afternoon.’ Lewis looked at his watch. ‘Now, actually.’

Jane left Janice talking to DCI Lewis and walked over to the gallery overlooking the reception area. She looked down at an elderly couple holding hands. They were sitting with their backs to the window and the woman was crying. At their feet was a black holdall containing a change of clothes for their son, no doubt. Jane shook her head. Another couple for whom it would not be a happy Christmas.

‘Jane.’

She spun round to see Janice standing at a workstation on the far side of the CID area, waving her over.

‘What’s up?’

‘Perry’s here. They’re bringing him in the back way.’

‘The back way?’ said Jane.

‘Anything else we need to know, Mark? Dave?’ asked Janice.

‘Not really. It’s difficult to find anyone who has anything bad to say about either of them. Even his political opponents seem to like him, from what I can see,’ replied Pearce. ‘I’ve only searched the web though, so far.’

‘He drives a Honda Civic and I checked the cameras on
junction
24 for an hour or so either side of 2 a.m. Came up with nothing,’ said Harding. ‘If he did drive down, he didn’t use the M5.’

‘He didn’t use junction 24, Dave,’ said Janice.

‘I suppose so.’

‘He could have got off at junction 23 and gone across country from there.’

‘D’you want me to check?’

‘Not yet. Let’s see what he’s got to say first.’

‘OK.’

‘Where’s Harry?’

‘Not back yet.’

Janice looked at Jane and raised her eyebrows.

‘C’mon, Jane, let’s not keep Perry waiting.’

‘This is not going to be easy,’ said Jane.

‘These ones never are,’ replied Janice, grimacing.

Jane stepped back and watched Janice take a deep breath and then open the door of the interview room. Tom Perry was sitting with his back to the door, rocking backwards and forwards on his chair, his chest heaving. He was crying but making no sound. Jane looked at the uniformed officer standing just inside the door.
He looked
at her and shook his head.

‘Mr Perry,’ said Janice.

He turned around on his chair. His eyes were bloodshot and tears were streaming down his face.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Janice Courtenay and this is Detective Constable Jane Winter. We’re investigating the death of your wife . . .’

‘Murder. The murder of my wife.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘I’ve had my clothes taken, my DNA taken, they’ve even scraped under my bloody fingernails.’

‘It’s standard . . .’

‘You think I did it, don’t you?’ screamed Perry, jumping up from his chair. ‘Why? Why would I kill her?’

‘Sit down, sir,’ shouted the uniformed officer, stepping forward.

‘She was carrying my child, for God’s sake.’

‘Please sit down, sir,’ said Janice. ‘We don’t think . . . nobody thinks . . .’

We have questions we have to ask, boxes we have to tick
. That was Dixon’s standard line in this situation. Jane stepped forward.

‘We have questions we have to ask, boxes we have to tick. I’m sure you understand, sir.’

Perry glared at Jane. He took several deep breaths.

‘Yes, of course, you do,’ he replied, sitting down.

Jane sat down on the seat next to him. She reminded him that he was not under arrest and that he was free to leave at any time.

‘I’m just helping you with your enquiries, am I?’

‘You are.’

Perry nodded.

‘You’ve declined a solicitor?’ asked Jane.

‘I don’t need one.’

‘OK. Let’s start with the difficult question. You’ll understand I have to ask it.’

‘I went to the office Christmas party. I got home at about eleven thirty. I sent my wife a text message then went to bed. I was woken up this morning by your lot.’

‘Was there . . . ?’

‘I was in the house alone. My wife’s parents are in Poole.’

‘How much did you have to drink at the party?’

‘Too much to drive, if that’s what you’re asking. Several people on my table can vouch for that.’

‘OK. Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt Elizabeth?’

‘No.’

‘Tell me about her.’

‘She was the sweetest person you could ever hope to meet.
She . . .’
Perry stopped mid-sentence and began to sob again.

‘Let’s get his parents,’ said Jane.

Janice turned to the uniformed officer and nodded.

‘Tom.’

Perry looked up at Jane.

‘Someone’s gone to get your parents. All right?’

Perry nodded.

‘They’ll be here in a minute.’

‘We will catch whoever did this, Mr Perry,’ said Janice.

They sat in silence, watching Perry sobbing in front of them. He threw his head back and screamed but no sound came out. Jane closed her eyes.

‘Would you like to see the doctor, Tom?’ asked Janice.

Perry shook his head.

Jane stood up when she heard voices outside the interview room.

‘Wait here, Tom.’

She opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. A custody officer was talking to the elderly couple who had been waiting in reception.

‘May we see our son now, please?’ asked the elderly man, turning to Jane.

‘Yes, of course. You’ll understand that he’s in shock. We asked him if he wanted to see the doctor but he said no.’

‘Is he all right?’ asked the woman.

‘He’s very distressed and agitated, Mrs Perry,’ replied Jane. ‘Not only is he having to deal with the loss of his wife but there are questions and tests we . . .’

‘You surely can’t think he did it?’

‘No, we don’t. But we have to ask, do the tests.’

Mr Perry sighed. ‘Can we go in now?’

Mrs Perry pushed past Jane as she opened the door and threw her arms around her son.

Jane turned to Janice and the uniformed officer. ‘Let’s leave them to it, shall we?’

‘I’m gonna head back upstairs,’ whispered Janice, closing the door behind her. ‘Can you sort them out?’

Jane nodded.

The uniformed officer looked at her and tipped his head to one side.

‘Yes, yes, you go too,’ said Jane. ‘I’ll see them out.’

Then she took her phone out of her pocket and sent Dixon a text message.

What are you up to? J x

She waited several minutes for a reply, checking the signal and shaking the phone several times, but none came. Then she knocked on the interview room door.

‘Come in.’

Tom Perry had changed into the clothes that his parents had brought and the overalls were lying on the floor in the corner.

‘Can I go now?’ he asked.

‘Yes, you can. I’m assuming you’ll be staying with your parents?’

‘Can’t I go to the cottage?’

‘No, I’m sorry. It’s a crime scene and it’s likely to be a few days before . . .’

‘But I need clothes.’

‘You can make do, Tom,’ said Mrs Perry. ‘There are still some at home.’

‘If you let me have a list of the stuff you need, then I can . . .’

‘Forget it,’ said Tom, shaking his head.

‘So, what happens now?’ asked his father.

‘We do have several lines of enquiry. I’ll know more when the forensic teams have finished, but a family liaison officer will be in touch and they’ll keep you informed.’

‘Where is she?’ asked Tom.

‘Musgrove Park Hospital,’ replied Jane.

‘Can I see her?’

‘Not yet, I’m afraid. We . . .’

‘I must see her,’ said Tom, jumping up and towering above Jane. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said his father, stepping in between them. ‘There’s nothing we can do now. Let’s go home, Tom.’

Mrs Perry put her hand on her son’s shoulder and turned him towards her. Then she put her arms around him. Jane watched his huge frame heaving as he sobbed.

‘Have the papers got hold of it yet?’ asked his father.

‘No,’ replied Jane. ‘But it’s just a matter of time before they do.’

Mr Perry gritted his teeth. ‘Vultures.’

‘We’ll be doing everything we can to keep it out of the press as long as we can,’ said Jane.

‘And there’s the election,’ said Mrs Perry. ‘Oh, God.’

‘C’mon, let’s get you home.’

‘No,’ replied Tom. ‘I have to go to Poole.’

‘Let someone else tell them, Tom,’ said Mrs Perry.

‘No. They never thought I was good enough for Lizzie and I’m not going to let them think it now.’

Jane watched from the windows on the first floor of the police station as Mr and Mrs Perry drove their son out of Express Park. The street lights lit up the inside of the car and she could see him sitting in the rear passenger seat, his head in his hands. Then she thought about Elizabeth Perry’s parents and brother, who still had an hour or so of Christmas left to enjoy. She was watching the tail lights of the Perrys’ car disappear into the distance when her phone rang.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Dixon.

‘Don’t ask.’

‘Got anything?’

‘Some cigarette butts and vomit have gone off to the lab.’

‘Any witnesses?’

‘Not really.’

‘What’s happening now?’

‘Not a lot. Janice is still here but the others have all gone, I think. We can’t do a lot now until we get the results. What time is it anyway?’

‘Just after five,’ replied Dixon. ‘I’m assuming Roger’s doing the PM. I had a text from him cancelling our curry.’

‘Yes. He’s doing it now, I think.’

Jane spotted Janice waving at her from the other side of the CID area.

‘I’ll call you back,’ she said.

‘Who was that?’ asked Janice.

‘Nick. Just wondering where I was.’

‘Has Perry gone?’

‘Yes. They’re going down to Poole to tell her family.’

Janice shook her head. ‘Well, there’s not a lot we can do here. I’ve sent the others home.’

‘Anything from the farm on the other side of the river?’ asked Jane.

‘Harry never came back. Useless tosser’s probably gone straight home.’

‘What about Scientific?’

‘They’ve finished and secured the property. We’ll get a call if they find anything.’

‘And the post mortem?’

‘Poland’s doing that now, so we’ll get his report tomorrow,
I expect
.’

‘You going?’

‘No. She was stabbed. It’ll be down to the forensics, this one. We’ve just got to hope they find some DNA in that puke or on
the cigarettes
. In the meantime, I’m going home before I end up
in the
divorce courts and I suggest you do the same.’

‘When will we get the test results?’

‘They’ve been expedited so possibly tomorrow or Boxing Day. Depends on their staffing at the lab, I suppose.’