A Killing Karma (10 page)

Next, they
investigated the bedroom. Catt eyed the single bed with a narrowed gaze. ‘Looks
like things weren't hunky-dory on the marital front.’

‘Not
necessarily. Lots of married people prefer to sleep separately. Perhaps Gus
Oliver was a champion snorer?' Still, it was, as Catt had said, an interesting
aspect of the Olivers' life together, though he refused to give a fillip to
ThomCatt's salaciousness on the matter. But, taken together with the other
women who had telephoned ...

As in the
office, they found little of interest in the bedroom. There were no
incriminating slips of paper in the pockets of Oliver's jackets or trousers or
anywhere else; either the dead man had memorized his women friends' addresses
and telephone numbers or he kept such incriminating details at work. After
obtaining the location of Gus Oliver's business premises, they asked Mrs Oliver
if she would like Shazia Khan to stay with her. She refused the offer, telling
them she preferred to be alone. ‘After all, it's something I'm going to have to
get used to.’

They bid her
farewell as there was nothing else they could offer by way of comfort and made
for the station.

‘It's
unfortunate that Gus Oliver gives every appearance of being a serial
philanderer,’ Catt commented as they drove away. ‘Just think of the number of
jealous women and angry husbands who could have wanted to off him. Not to
mention a possibly jealous — with reason — wife.’

‘Don't,’ Casey
pleaded. ‘I’m trying not to think about the potential number of suspects. Don't
forget, there's also the business angle. Mr Oliver, to judge from his home, was
a wealthy and successful man. It's possible he didn't always use nice methods
to bring in the cash.’

‘Judging from
the ugliness of his death, it looks like he wasn't the only one with less than
nice ways to him.’

Once back at
the station, Casey stopped off at the newly-set-up incident room. Several more
women had rung up to identify the dead man during the time they had been out;
foolishly, although failing to give their names or other details, in their
distress, they had rung from their home telephone numbers and were thus easily
traced. He handed the details to Catt. ‘Go and see them and the others who have
rung in. Find out if any of them have alibis for the relevant times. Check if
they hold water. Take Shazia Khan with you. Meanwhile, I'll go to Oliver's
business premises and see what I can find out.’

Catt nodded,
took the list and left the office.

Casey shrugged
back into his coat and set off for Oliver's work place.

The business
premises of Oliver's International was on the edge of King's Langley, on the
industrial estate that had been built five years ago just off the bypass. The
building was three stories high. Sleek, black and glossy, it was starkly modern
with lots of glass and with a car park for around thirty cars in front.

The glossy
theme continued inside. The floor was black marble, as was the large reception
desk. Casey thought it somewhat funereal, as all the black was only relieved by
modern, abstract pictures which, from what he gleaned by a quick peer at the
paintings, were by Jackson Pollock. Piles of the firm's literature were heaped
on the small tables dotting the reception area. He helped himself to one of
each before he crossed to the reception desk. After producing his ID and
telling the elegant, much-painted young woman behind the desk that he needed to
speak to Mr Oliver's secretary — thinking she would be the quickest route to
finding out about Oliver's business affairs — he was instructed to sit down
while she rang through to the secretary’s office. He settled down to reading
the firm's literature while he waited.

It seemed
Oliver's International dealt in the import of decorative exotica from around
the world; everything from African wooden masks to rugs and other textiles, as
well as skilfully crafted metalwork from India and the Middle East. The
business was aimed at the wealthy and successful and its goods seemed to be
priced accordingly, as per a separate price list which Casey had picked up.
Briefly, he wondered if their imports had included drugs: it would certainly
explain the gangland appearance of Oliver's killing. But before he ventured
down that road he wanted to find out a lot more about the victim and his
lifestyle. Certainly, from what they had learned so far they had a more than sufficient
number of potential suspects for the moment without seeking out Colombian drug
barons.

The office of
Caroline Everett, Oliver's secretary, was also large and glossy. It adjoined Oliver’s.
She proved very helpful once she got over the shock of her boss's murder. She
was an attractive girl, a strawberry blonde with a willowy figure, but given Oliver's
propensity for numerous affairs, which propensity Casey was gradually coming to
accept, he supposed it was a prerequisite that his female staff should be young
and good-looking.

Once seated in
her office, Casey asked Ms Everett if Gus Oliver had had any rancorous disputes
with one or more of his rival business acquaintances that might have led to his
brutal death.

To Casey's
surprise, she said, ‘I’m afraid so.’ Her accompanying smile was long-suffering
and wry. 'I don't like to speak ill of the dead and he wasn't a bad boss to
work for, but if you were a business rival who trod on his corns — look out.’
She sat down behind her desk and invited Casey to take a chair.

‘Mr Oliver
could be ruthless. He liked to get his own way and often played dirty. He loved
nothing better than a good row, the more acrimonious the better. He was always
involved in some dispute or other. In fact, we're currently involved in several
court cases.’

‘Is that so?’
Casey sat up and whipped out his notebook. ‘I'd appreciate the details of the
other parties and what the disputes were about.’

They didn't
take long to produce. Casey returned his notebook to his pocket as Caroline
quickly typed the details and the nature of the various disputes and printed
them out. Attractive
and
efficient, was Casey's thought. Not a common
mix. Beautiful people, in his experience, were seldom expected to be other than
decorative. But he supposed Gus Oliver had been the sort of man to demand the
best in all things. Competence, like beauty, was undoubtedly another
prerequisite.

‘You said Mr
Oliver wasn't a bad boss to work for,’ Casey remarked.

‘That's right.
Most of the time, anyway. It was only when he got deeply involved in some
rancorous dispute that he could become snappy. But, on the whole, once he'd got
over the fact that I had no intention of joining his harem, he wasn't a bad
boss to work for.’

‘So you knew
about his infidelities?’

‘Hard not to
as I was the one deputed to buying Valentine's cards and birthday flowers and
jewellery.’

‘What about
his wife? Did you know her well?’

Caroline shook
her head. ‘Hardly at all. She rarely came to the office and telephoned almost
as seldom. As far as I could tell they mostly seemed to lead separate lives.’

‘Did she know
about her husband's affairs?’

‘I've no idea.
But she must have done, surely? As I said, I can't know for sure, but it seems
likely given the amount of time he must have spent away from home at evenings
and weekends. I know the frequency because, of course, I booked the flights and
hotel rooms. But Mrs Oliver is not a gossipy woman. She's always been perfectly
civil to me but we never got on first name terms. Not that she rang very often.
I've always thought her quite a formal, reserved type. Maybe the neighbours
will know more?’

Casey doubted
it from what Alice Oliver had said. ‘Perhaps you could supply me with a list of
your boss's lady friends?’ It would be interesting to see if the list Caroline
supplied matched the list they had already compiled from the phone calls made by
Oliver's various female acquaintances.

List in hand,
he thanked Caroline Everett for her help and made for the car park. Later, they
would have to go through Oliver's office files and see if they discovered more
likely killers amongst the paperwork. But, for the meantime, they had enough,
between his love trysts and his business disputes, to keep them busy.

As Casey,
assisted by the wind which was still blowing with gusto, walked back to the car
to return to the station, he acknowledged that he and Catt would need to speak
to Mrs Oliver again and find out what — if anything — she knew about her
husband's extramarital affairs.

But first,
they would concentrate on the ladies who had so carelessly telephoned without
taking the precaution of using a public phone or of dialling 141 on their home
phones to conceal their identity. He'd let Catt finish checking them out before
he spoke to Mrs Oliver again and see if they could provide alibis. It would be
interesting to get Catt's take on the women. Any who failed to provide a
verifiable alibi he would go to see himself.

On the drive
back to the station, he mused about the case. On the face of it, by ringing the
incident room to tell them of the dead man's identity, these women friends of
Oliver's had given themselves the aura of innocence. 'I rang you as soon as I
recognized him,’ they would say, ‘but as for knowing anything about his death
...'

But it was an
innocence Casey put no trust in. Because innocent or guilty, each of the women
must secretly believe that their liaisons with Oliver would come out. If one of
the women had murdered him, by phoning in, they were covering their tracks and
making themselves appear virtuous by helping the police in their investigation.
More suspicious for them not to telephone, they would surely have thought, when
Gus Oliver's photo had received such wide publicity in the local media and
their identities had been known to Oliver’s secretary.

Once back at
the station and before he left again to attend the post mortem, Casey rang the
three business rivals with whom Oliver had been in dispute to make
appointments. He wondered how Catt was getting on in questioning Oliver's
harem. More ladies had since rung in, so he hoped Catt would be able to quickly
eliminate one or two of those from the first list. But he didn't worry about it
unduly. He'd find out the results of Catt's interviews soon enough. Meanwhile,
he had interviews of his own to arrange. He'd told Catt he'd see him at the
mortuary. He would speak to his sergeant after the PM and find out what he had
discovered.

Dr Merriman
adjusted the microphone under his chin and began the post-mortem. Not by nature
a garrulous or sociable man, he didn't pause to provide asides to Casey and
Catt; rather, once he'd identified the cadaver on the slab and given his
measurements, he directed all his words to the mike.

‘Deep knife
wound to the left groin area. Femoral artery severed, which is the probable
cause of death. A kitchen carving knife could have done it. He would have bled
to death fairly rapidly. The removal of the victim's penis looks to have
occurred after death, but I'll confirm that one after toxicological analysis.
The hypostasis evidence shows the victim was moved after death and didn't die
in the alleyway where his body was found.’ Dr Merriman's thin, dry voice droned
remorselessly on. As usual, he had been noncommittal at the murder scene, but
now, with the post mortem underway, he confirmed his previous suspicions with
that irritating, lecturing tone that had always grated on Casey. But he didn't
let his feelings show any more than Merriman. He simply watched, impassively,
as Merriman made his first, long incision, from chest to groin.

Unusually for
him, Casey had begun to drift off. He now had a definite cause of death as well
as the identity of the victim. Dr Merriman had already confirmed his findings
that the victim had been dead for between forty-eight and sixty hours when he
had been found. Now all he lacked was the location of the murder and its
perpetrator. Although he had little liking for the pathologist, Casey was
grateful to him for confirming the body had been moved after death. It might
just reduce the number of suspects who could have relocated it. And even if it
didn't do that, any car used in its transportation would surely not escape
without some bloodstains.

The post mortem
eventually drew to a close. Casey and Catt left immediately, Merriman being no
more inclined to chat after the procedure than he was during it. Anyway, they
had their answers.

There had been
no chance to talk during the post mortem, Dr Merriman disliking what he called
idle chatter while he worked, but once they got into the fresh air and away
from the abattoir stench, Casey asked Catt how he'd got on during his
interviews with Oliver's lovers who featured on their earliest list.

‘All three are
doing shocked, stunned and saddened to perfection,’ Catt began brightly. ‘Though
funnily enough, if one or more of them are merely friends of Oliver’s, they're
all very attractive, which I thought a bit of a coincidence. But we don't have
to rely on supposition as it was clear from the wary manner of all three that
their friendships with Oliver were rather more than platonic. Amanda Meredith,
Sarah Garrett and Carole Brown all claim to have been at home between nine and
midnight on Friday night,’ Catt told him.