02 Blue Murder (9 page)

“
Never heard of
it.”

“
Nor I. Looked it up.
Appears to be a family-run hardware shop in Peckham,” Hetheridge
said. “I’ll send some PCs down there this afternoon to check it
out. I suppose it’s too much to ask that the owners might have CC
surveillance tapes of their customers. Much less some recollection
of a young man seeking the best tool for splitting skulls. But you
never know.”

“
A young man, eh?” Kate
pounced on the word. “So you’ve decided our killer is
male?”

Hetheridge, who’d apparently used the noun
unconsciously, considered for a moment. “For some reason — yes. The
crime seems masculine to me — the brutality, the need for a certain
degree of upper body strength, the brazen aspect of killing two
people during a party. And the choice of weapon — an axe — is
plainly masculine.”

Kate snorted. “Ever hear of Lizzie
Borden?”

“
Touché,” Hetheridge smiled.
“But she was part of a long murderesses’ tradition ...”

“…
Which consists of
slaughtering inconvenient family members behind closed doors.” Kate
smiled back. She’d heard Hetheridge say that before, when he’d
lectured to her class back in her academy days. “True. Whereas
Trevor Parsons and Clive French weren’t related and had no
relatives at the party, at least as far as we yet know. You don’t
suppose French and Parsons were connected by a mutual partner? A
romantic partner, I mean?”

“
Perhaps. But tell me this.”
Hetheridge swiveled his computer monitor to face Kate. She found
herself staring at recent photos of Trevor Parsons and Clive
French, no doubt provided by the victims’ families. Trevor, kitted
out in his rugby uniform, grinned at the camera, a golden trophy
lifted in triumph. Square-jawed and tanned with sun-bleached hair,
he looked like the perfect companion for Emmeline Wardle. Clive, by
contrast, was just a disconnected white face staring into a webcam.
He kept his mouth shut to conceal his buck teeth and wore a
baseball cap to hide his receding hairline, but Kate knew him by
his chubby cheeks and weak chin.

“
Would you say these young
men are likely to be connected by a mutual partner?”

“
No.” Kate crossed her arms
over her chest. “So. Here’s what we have so far. Emmeline Wardle,
Trevor’s girlfriend, screams herself hoarse when she sees him die
but doesn’t want to be detained under the same roof as his body.
What’s your opinion, based on her interview? Was Ms. Wardle
genuinely distraught?”

Hetheridge shook his head.

“
Do you think she may have
had a hand in Trevor Parsons’ murder?”

“
I don’t know. I do know she
called Clive French a blackmailing little toad,” Hetheridge said.
“And she was well aware that Sir Duncan was her neighbor. Yet she
told me specifically — so specifically, her barrister now claims it
never happened — that if Sir Duncan killed her guests, she did
nothing to precipitate it.”

“
Bizarre.”

“
Oh, yes. The piss tests are
backed up, and we’re overloaded with formal complaints, but in a
day or two we should have Ms. Wardle’s tox screen. Either she’s an
unusually belligerent young woman, or she was high on stimulants.
Meth, or cocaine.”

“
Kyla Sloane seemed
perfectly sober, so I waived the piss test,” Kate said. “But
overall, her demeanor was much too calm. Answered my questions like
a professional witness. Only showed remorse over a broken vase.
Think about it, guv. We have two dead males and two very suspicious
females. Are you sure you want to hang your hat on the notion of a
male killer?”

“
Yes.” Hetheridge stood up
and stretched, fighting back a yawn. “Not merely for the
circumstantial reasons I named, but because of Emmeline Wardle’s
comment. Taken in context with DS Bhar’s report, an exploration of
Sir Duncan Godington’s possible involvement is now
inevitable.”

“
Bhar?” Kate repeated. “What
do you mean?”

Hetheridge looked surprised at himself.
“Perhaps I’m getting too old for all-nighters. Here. Have a look at
this transcript of his interview with three witnesses — Matthew
Bice, Jeremy Bentham and Quinton Baylor.” Returning to his seat
behind the desk, Hetheridge opened the document for Kate to read
off his computer monitor.

“
That’s interesting,” Kate
said when she’d finished. “A man in the back garden with
Kyla?”

“
And Clive French’s body
almost certainly moved from the spot where he died.”

“
I have to admit, just on
the facts alone, it all seems rather cold-blooded,” Kate continued.
“The murders are committed in a public venue, in close proximity to
dozens of potential witnesses …”

“
Who must also be considered
suspects.”

“
Exactly. Talk about
muddying the waters,” Kate said. “Plus, the crime scene included a
huge supply of drugs and alcohol. Therefore, most of these
witnesses-slash-suspects were in a state of reduced inhibitions
during the time of the murders. Who knows whom they argued with,
flirted with, even went to bed with? From what I saw, most of the
guests acted either terrified or guilty as sin.

“
Of course,” Kate continued,
warming to her subject, “under ordinary circumstances, entering a
public place with two axes in hand might be considered bizarre
rather than cold-blooded. Except at this one time of year. At a
Halloween party complete with rubber rats, joke blood, plastic body
parts — and plastic axes, too, right?”

“
Right,” Hetheridge said.
“We’ll have to reference the crime scene photos to be absolutely
sure, but yes, I seem to recall fake axes. Not to mention the fact
virtually every last one of the male party guests had a backpack.
Not surprising, since they were all students. And a backpack or
large satchel would make it easy to bring real weapons onto the
scene.”

“
So in this scenario, Murder
Boy is an invited guest,” Kate said. “And at least nominally a
friend of Emmeline’s …”

“
Murder Boy?” Hetheridge
raised an eyebrow.

“
Have to call him something.
Right. Murder Boy does Clive in the back garden. By the time Kyla
Sloane finds the body, Murder Boy’s upstairs, doing Trevor Parsons
in the attic. Probably he means for Trevor to die there. That way
Murder Boy can slip back into the party, maybe even hook up with
another guest to give himself an alibi. Best-case scenario, neither
corpse will be discovered until dawn. MB probably never dreamed
Trevor would have the strength to blunder down the stairs with the
axe still in his head.”

“
Wouldn’t
he? If MB
,
as you
call him, hated Trevor enough to kill him, wouldn’t he know Trevor
was an athlete in peak condition?”

Kate shrugged. “Statistically, murderers
never plan more than five minutes past the act itself.”

“
Statistically, this case is almost certain to prove an
aberration,” Hetheridge said. “And Trevor
did
blunder down the stairs to die in
front of everyone. Yet there’s no evidence MB panicked as a result.
Quite the opposite. If your scenario is correct, MB rejoined the
party, cool as you please, and accepted his interview along with
the rest. Begging the question — did MB betray himself during his
initial interview? Can we sift through those statements and find
something amiss? Or is MB so calm, so perfectly controlled, he’ll
always think before he speaks? Even if confronted again and
again?”

“
You mean the way Sir Duncan
Godington did?” Detective Sergeant Paul Bhar asked from the
doorway.

“
Precisely.” Hetheridge
leaned further back in his chair. It was clearly such an ingrained
habit, especially when his mind was working double-quick, Kate
doubted he even realized he was doing it. Listening to the
well-worn chair creak in protest, she suspected he might one day
lean back a bit too far, and end up landing on his ancestral
dignity. God knew Bhar was counting on it.

Except today Bhar looked rather less
mischievous than usual. On the way to work he’d purchased a grande
drink from Starbucks, doubtless a creamy, sugary latte. In Kate’s
half-starved state, the mystery beverage’s aroma was almost
pornographic.

“
Composure and affability
were Sir Duncan’s signatures. Along with his good looks,” Bhar
added, rolling his eyes.

“
Hey! Can’t believe I forgot
you had a role in the Sir Duncan legend.” Kate grinned to let Bhar
know that yes, she was unabashedly curious. “The guv hasn’t spilled
a word, beyond the fact you were once assigned to the case. So
let’s hear it.”

“
Pull the other one,” Bhar
snapped. “Kate. Please. How can you not know?”

Kate’s grin widened. “I have exactly two
snouts here at the Yard. Our guv,” she gestured to Hetheridge like
a spokesmodel showing off a car, “and intrepid young detective Paul
Bhar. So if the guv hasn’t told me and you haven’t told me, I have
no way of knowing, now have I?”

“
You only have yourself to
blame if you have no friends.” Bhar sounded uncharacteristically
harsh. “So the lads hazed you in the beginning. Get over it. Forget
past slights, stop being so prickly and if someone tries to make
small talk with you, meet them halfway! Stop bucking like you’re
under interrogation, for Christ’s sake!”

Kate’s smile didn’t falter. Inside, however,
she felt like she’d suffered a hard slap — the kind that didn’t
ache until the initial numbness wore off. What did Bhar mean by all
that?

“
Sorry, Kate.” Bhar flopped
into the chair beside her. “That was out of bounds. When I spend
too much time with my mum, I start to sound like her. And God knows
she didn’t let me get much sleep,” he added, taking a sip of his
drink.

“
No problem.” Kate kept her
tone light. Had Bhar really just called her prickly? Accused her of
holding grudges and refusing olive branches? “Forget I
asked.”

“
No, I’ll tell you. But —
long story short.” Taking a deep breath, Bhar trained his gaze on
the corner of Hetheridge’s magnificent mahogany desk. “While I was
assigned to Sir Duncan’s case, I started seeing his ex-girlfriend,
Tessa Chilcott. In the course of our relationship,” Bhar drew in
another deep breath, “I told her things no one outside the
investigation should have known. Tessa passed the information on to
Sir Duncan. He informed his legal team, and they used that
knowledge to get him off. They also …”

“
Some
of that knowledge,” Hetheridge
cut across him.

Bhar shrugged.

“
Sir Duncan’s legal team was
excellent,” Hetheridge told Kate. “Naturally, they made the most of
what they should never have had. But there is no question Sir
Duncan was acquitted of triple murder chiefly due to a lack of
direct physical evidence. And also, in no small measure, due to his
composure and personal charm. The jury liked him. A factor that
cannot be underestimated. And like lightning, neither bottled nor
bought.”

“
Sir
Duncan’s legal team also claimed I had a personal vendetta against
their client,” Bhar continued, still not looking at Kate. “They
argued the obvious point — since the girl in question, Tessa
Chilcott, clearly preferred Sir Duncan to me, I responded by
manufacturing evidence to fit him up. Of course, by the time this
went to trial, I was off the case, and the prosecution downplayed
my role in the investigation. They argued that I had no idea Tessa
Chilcott was Sir Duncan’s ex. They never admitted any wrongdoing on
my part at all. But that was for the courtroom. The truth is, I
came
this close
to
the sack. The only thing that saved me was my good old Asian
surname.” Bhar managed a transparently false grin. “If I’d been
called John Smith, I’d have been chucked into the
street.”

“
You don’t know that,”
Hetheridge said.

“
Had to be. The only other
thing that could have saved me was if someone up the chain of
command intervened. And I had no friends in high places.” Lifting
his head, Bhar looked Hetheridge in the eye. “Sure couldn’t have
been my old guv. He refused to work with me afterward. Called me a
ruddy idiot.”

“
I know. I called you the
very same thing,” Hetheridge said lightly. “Mind you, I say that as
a man whose own professional conduct has been damned foolish from
time to time. At the end of the day, it no longer matters. Whoever
or whatever saved you, Paul, you’ve proven yourself worthy. This
case will resurrect the memory of that bloody mess, but only
briefly, I suspect. You’ve put the ugliest portion of the gossip to
rest through your own merits.”

High praise indeed, coming
from the guv
, Kate thought. He wasn’t known
for spooning honey onto harsh truths — the performance reviews he’d
written about previous subordinates were famously unsparing. She
should have felt proud for Bhar, but instead she felt a stab of
jealousy. Besides — prickly? Grudge-bearing?
Her?

“
So whatever happened to
Tessa Chilcott?” Kate asked Bhar, unable to resist poking him in
his soft spot. “Did she hook up with Sir Duncan after his
acquittal? Or come crawling back to you?”

“
Neither. They stayed
friends without becoming involved again, from what I could gather,”
Bhar said coolly. “Tessa lived on his estate for a time, drove his
cars, etc. She and I never spoke again.”