A Killing Karma (9 page)

Once in his
office, he asked if she had a recent photo of her missing husband.

‘Yes. I
thought it would be useful, so I brought this.’ She reached into her capacious
handbag and, from one of the side pockets, pulled out a glossy eight by ten
inch photo and handed it to him. ‘That picture was taken last year. It's a good
likeness.’

Casey nodded
as he stared at the photo. There was no doubt that it was their John Doe. He
stared for a few moments more at the photo as he gathered his thoughts and
decided how to best break the news of her husband's violent death. But before
he did that, he checked on what her husband had been wearing. As he'd expected,
the clothing was a match for their cadaver.

‘I’m afraid,
Mrs Oliver, that from the evidence of the photograph and clothing, I have some
bad news for you. A man answering your husband's description was found dead in
an alley in the town this morning.’

She stared at
him without uttering a sound, but her shock showed in the tightly-clenched
fingers on the handles of her bag.

‘Of course, to
be certain, we need someone to identity the body. Is there someone, a relative,
say, who could do that?’

Mrs Oliver
shook her head.

‘What about
friends who know your husband well?’

She shook her
head again and said, ‘There's his work colleagues, of course, but I'd rather
not trouble them. Besides, if the man you found is Gus, then I'm his widow.’
She sat up straighter in Casey's visitor's chair and said with a determined
edge to her voice, ‘I’d prefer to do any identifying that's necessary.’

‘Very well. If
you're sure.’ Defeated in his desire to spare her the ordeal of identifying the
man who seemed likely to be her husband, Casey tried another friendly overture.
‘Have you a neighbour who could stay with you?’

‘No. There is
no one.’ She hesitated, then said, 'I need to know, Chief Inspector. One way or
the other. I need to see him and know for certain.’ Her voice became stilted as
she added, ‘If I don't see the body I'll always wonder if it was really my
husband. If he’s really dead.’ Her voice petered out and she sat still and
silent, her head bowed.

Casey broke
into her reverie. 'Of course. Don't worry. We'll take you along to view the
body shortly, seeing as there is no one else to do it. I'll get it organized.
But before I do that, I need confirmation of your husband's name. You called
him Gus. I presume that's short for Augustus?’

‘No. It's
short for Gustav.'

'I see. Your
husband was foreign, perhaps?’ He hoped not or it could widen the extent of the
investigation considerably.

‘No. He is as
English as you or me. The name was just a fancy of his mother's.’

Relieved,
Casey nodded and said, ‘If you'll wait here, I'll get that viewing arranged. I
won't be long.’ Casey left his office and made for the main CID office; he
didn't want to talk about her dead husband in her presence. Perhaps he was
being unduly sensitive, but he thought a degree of sensitivity was called for
in the circumstances, especially as she seemed to have no one to turn to, no
friends or family to support her.

Catt was hovering
outside the door and he waylaid Casey as he came out. ‘So, what's the verdict?’
he asked. ‘Is our cadaver this woman's missing husband?’

Casey nodded.
‘Seems so. Mrs Oliver brought a photo in and it's the dead spit of our John
Doe. Our guy's name is Gustav Oliver. Gus for short.’

Catt raised
his eyes on hearing the dead man's first name and through pursed lips he asked,
‘Foreign, was he?’

‘Not according
to his widow. His mother just had outlandish taste in names.’

‘Good to get a
confirmed ID so quickly, anyway.’

Casey nodded
again and headed for the nearest CID desk to ring the mortuary.

The visit to
the mortuary was soon organized and they were shortly on their way. As well as
Catt, Casey had collected Shazia Khan, one of the station's female officers, to
accompany them and provide support for Mrs Oliver during her identification
ordeal. Dr Merriman had rung to tell them the post-mortem was scheduled for
that afternoon. For Mrs Oliver's sake, Casey was thankful she would view the
corpse before the post-mortem. Even though such viewings were arranged with as
much delicacy as possible, the PM would naturally leave its mark and many found
the ravages left behind on the body upsetting.

The journey to
St Luke's, the local hospital, didn't take long. Neither did Mrs Oliver's
examination of the body. After staring intently for several long moments, she
confirmed the dead man's identity. She pulled a handkerchief from her coat
pocket and dabbed at her eyes before turning away for some much needed privacy.
After giving her several minutes in which to compose herself, Casey took her
arm and ushered her gently out of the viewing room. ‘I’ll take you home,’ he
told her.

Once back in
the car, he said, ‘I’ll need to ask you some questions about Mr Oliver's movements,
but that can wait till tomorrow if you prefer.’ For himself, he would like to
find out as much as possible as soon as possible, but Oliver's widow was
entitled to some consideration. Even so, he was relieved when she declined his
offer.

‘I’d rather get
any questioning over and done with, Chief Inspector,’ she replied. ‘Get all the
unpleasantness over in one go.’

‘As you wish.
But we can take you home and interview you there.’

As Alice
Oliver gave directions to her home, Casey realized how shockingly close her
house was to the alley where her dead husband had been found; she might have
stumbled over his corpse herself. She would now have to pass the alley every
day as, although in different streets, her home and the alley where her
husband's body was found were separated by little more than fifty yards, the
alley being in a quiet road which led to the centre of town.

Mrs Oliver's
home was an imposing detached house with a double garage situated in a short
cul-de-sac. It was a modern house but featured several Georgian adornments,
like a pedestal over the front door and a uniform allocation of expensive
modern sash windows. The house was in a mixed neighbourhood with large,
detached properties mingling cheek-by-jowl with cramped Victorian terraced
houses similar to the one around the corner in which Cedric Abernethy lived.

According to
Alice Oliver, once they had arrived at her comfortable but plainly furnished
home and were seated in her double-aspect drawing room, her husband had left
the house around nine o'clock on Friday evening. It was now Monday.

Puzzled, Casey
asked, ‘Why didn't you report him missing earlier, Mrs Oliver? You must have
been worried.’

‘Yes. Of
course I was, but I didn't think you would take my worries seriously when he'd
been missing such a short time. Only children merit such immediate concern. Gus
is — was — an adult, after all. It was only when another night came and went
and he still hadn't returned that I felt justified in reporting him missing. He
often stayed away from home overnight, you see. Sometimes for two nights,
without telephoning me, so I wasn't unduly concerned. But, of course, when two
nights stretched into three, I knew something must be badly wrong.’

'I see.’

Now that they
had a confirmed ID, Casey said gently, ‘There are one or two matters we need to
put to you.’

She frowned.
‘What matters? I've already told you what time he left home. What else can you
possibly want to know? Unless I was mistaken about his identity?’ She broke off
and stared at Casey. Tell me,’ she said, ‘tell me, please. Could I have been
mistaken or is the man found dead in that alley really my husband?’

Casey was quick
to dispel any rising hope. ‘I’m afraid the similarities are too apparent for
there to be any doubt. I'm sorry.’

She nodded and
gave him a brief, wavering smile. 'I just hoped—' She broke off. ‘Never mind. I
suppose everyone in my position indulges in some wishful thinking. But I see I
must face facts.’ She got up and made for the door. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.
I'm sure you'd like tea.’

Once she had
left the room Casey turned as Catt touched his arm. Catt whispered that he had
rung the station from the mortuary to alert the murder team that they had a
definite confirmed ID. During the call he had learned that several women had
rung in after they had seen the dead man's photograph on the news bulletin —
the media hadn't rested on their laurels — but then neither had Casey. He had
asked the police photographer to forward the man's photo plus the bare details,
which was all they had themselves, to one of his contacts amongst the local
television news team. The item had featured in the final slot that morning.

It had
certainly hit the target, because these women, too, had given the dead man's
name as Gus Oliver.

Mrs Oliver
came back with the tea. She had even troubled to fill a plate with biscuits. It
was a thoughtful gesture in the midst of her grief and Casey was touched.

It was clear
she had been thinking whilst in the kitchen, because as she placed the tray
with the tea things on a small side table, poured the tea and passed the cups,
she said, ‘If my husband is dead, murdered, surely, isn't it more important for
you to set about finding who killed him than questioning me?’

‘Yes, of
course,’ Casey answered. ‘But your answers to my questions will hopefully help
us find his killer, so they’re important. For instance, we need to know of
anyone who might have had reason to harm your husband. Do you know if he had
any enemies?’

‘Enemies? No.
Everyone loved Gus. He was a very popular man.’

Casey was
careful to avoid meeting Thomas Catt's eye, as he helped himself to milk,
certain he would see the message ‘popular with the ladies, anyway’ writ large
there. According to the information Catt had whispered, the late Mr Oliver
wasn't of a retiring nature where the ladies were concerned. Of course that
might mean they had just been friends or business acquaintances of Oliver's.
Casey would not let himself be influenced by Catt's knowing wink. As yet, he
had no way of knowing if Gus Oliver's widow had been aware of her husband's
extra-marital activities — if such they were — and now was not the time to
question her on the matter. Certainly she was unaware of the number of women in
his life who, like her, had already contacted them and identified him. But
given the apparent number of them, he found it improbable that she could have
remained in ignorance. He frowned as he realized that Catt's knowing wink and
manner were already influencing him towards the extra-marital romances
scenario. She must at least have suspected what her husband was up to.
Determinedly, he added to himself — if he was up to anything.

Still, for
now, he would give her the benefit of the doubt. They were likely to find
plenty of indications from other witnesses as to whether Mrs Oliver had known
of her husband's women friends.

Mrs Oliver
hesitated, sipped her tea as if she hoped to gain strength from the hot liquid,
then added, ‘Though, I suppose, as he was such a successful businessman, he
must have attracted some ill-wishers. After all’, she shivered, then continued,
‘someone hated him enough to murder him.’

‘Do you know
where he went on these all-night trips?’ Casey questioned.

‘Rarely. Gus
didn't confide in me about business matters. Why do you ask? Do you suspect
that he might have been killed by a business rival?’

‘It's one
possibility.’ Casey paused, then, thinking of the viciousness of the murder
that, as Catt had remarked, held the hallmarks of a gangland slaying, asked as
delicately as he could, ‘Did he have any dealings with shady types? People on
the fringes of crime, perhaps? So many of the more clever criminals nowadays
have
bona fide
businesses alongside their illegal ones, so it's possible
he might have, unknowingly, done business with one or two.’

‘I've no idea.
As I said, my husband didn't confide his business dealings to me.’

That was a
pity, was Casey's immediate thought. It meant they would have to do some
serious digging into these presumed violent business rivals.

‘You might
contact his secretary,’ Alice Oliver said. ‘She should be able to give you more
information. She's a nice young woman, by the name of Caroline Everett. I
believe she's worked for Gus for several years. '

Casey nodded
as Catt noted the name, then asked, ‘Did your husband have a home office? Somewhere
where we might find an address book of friends and business contacts?’

‘Yes. It's in
the spare bedroom. I'll show you.’ She put her cup down and led them across the
hallway to the stairs. But before they ascended, Casey said, ‘We'd also like to
see your husband's bedroom, Mrs Olive.’

‘If you must.
It's the door at the top of the stairs.’

‘We'll look at
the office first. Have we your permission to take away with us anything we
think might be relevant to your husband's death?’

‘Take what you
like and welcome,’ she said. 'I have no use for any of it.’

Fortunately,
Gus Oliver had been a tidy man; everything was neatly compartmentalized — much
like his love life, thought Casey. They quickly found a business address book.
A search through his filing cabinet and desk drawers revealed little of
interest. He seemed to use both just for household bills and other domestic
paperwork.