Chimera (3 page)

Chapter Three

Olbeck was back in the office the next day, ridiculously tanned and relaxed looking. He handed around bottles of rum and hot pepper sauce – Kate took the sauce – and suffered half-teasing, half resentful remarks about ‘glad you decided to finally come back’, ‘beach got too boring for you, did it?’ and all the usual clichés. After everyone had finally settled down and got back to work, Olbeck came over and perched on Kate’s desk, swinging one leg.

“So, what have I missed?”

“Not a lot, actually,” Kate admitted. She turned her chair to face him. “God, you’re
so
brown. We’ve had several dead bodies but nothing too untoward, apparently.”

“
Several
bodies? Tell me more.” Olbeck listened as Kate outlined the last few cases. “It’s a bit weird that they’ve all started popping up now, isn’t it? Or could it just be coincidence?”

“You tell me,” said Kate. “The thing is, Anderton’s not interested, which means that it’s not top priority. He’s kind of just chucked it at me to keep an eye on.”

“Right.” Olbeck rubbed his tanned chin and got to his feet. “Well, keep an eye on it then, and let me know if anything untoward actually turns up.”

“Aye-aye, captain.” Kate threw him an ironic salute. “So when am I going to see the photos, then?”

“When I put them on Facebook, of course.”

“I don’t do Facebook.”

“I know you don’t, you Luddite. Tell you what, I’ll have a grand cinema screening over at our place sometime soon and you can see them then.”

“Marvellous.”

Olbeck cautiously scratched at his nose, which was peeling. “What are you up to today?”

Kate grimaced. “I’ve got the PM on the body from the cottage.”

“What fun for you.”

“Indeed.” Kate got up herself and began to gather her things together. “And guess what’s even
more
fun? Andrew’s doing the PM.”

Olbeck winced. “Ouch. Awkward.”

Kate hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “Don’t suppose you want to do it for me?” she asked, cheekily.

Olbeck gave a cynical laugh. “Nice try, but no.”

“Oh well.” Kate gave him another salute. “I’ll go and face the music then. See you later.”

Driving towards the pathology labs, Kate’s expression of false cheer collapsed and she groaned. Seeing Andrew was just
so
awkward. Doctor Stanton was still obviously very hurt by Kate ending the relationship on such spurious – at least from his perspective – grounds and, whilst he was too much of a gentleman to go so far as to make pointed and cutting remarks, there was a stiffness to his manner, a marked contrast to the easy flirtatiousness that used to characterise their interactions. Kate fervently hoped that the scheduling of the post mortem had been changed, or – even better – that Doctor Telling had replaced Andrew as the one performing the procedure, but it was not to be. Kate checked in at reception and made her way to the theatre, swearing under her breath.

As it happened, Theo was already there. Kate was left relieved that there was another person there to temper the frosty atmosphere but also annoyed that he’d beaten her to it. Theo had been promoted to Detective Sergeant last year, and whilst he and Kate worked better together now than they had at first, their partnership had nothing of the easy familiarity that Kate used to enjoy with Olbeck. Kate took a deep breath, greeted Andrew with as nice a smile as she could, and vowed that she would spend the evening hard at work studying. She was due to take the exams for her Inspector’s certificate in three weeks’ time, and –
please, God
– if she passed them then she and Olbeck might be back working together again.

Once the PM was actually underway, some of the tension in the room eased a little. Andrew had always had a rather terse, abrupt way of working, which meant that any undercurrent of resentment went virtually unnoticed. Kate could concentrate on the job at hand, watching as the sad remains of what had once been a human being were probed and weighed and measured and the mystery of their death hopefully cleared up.

“Your victim is male,” Andrew said, bending over the table. “I would say late forties, perhaps older. Early fifties maybe.”

Kate nodded. “Any chance of fingerprints?”

Andrew risked a glance at her. “Not a hope. I think your best bet will be dental records, although we’ll be able to do DNA tests as well. There might be a match.”

Kate nodded again and fell silent whilst Theo asked a few more questions. She normally found post mortems hard, particularly if the victim had been young, but this one was turning out to be less emotionally draining than normal. The body was so badly decayed it was almost unrecognisable as a human being, and detachment came surprisingly easily.

Eventually Andrew stood up, easing his shoulders back with a groan. Kate was uncomfortably reminded that she used to give him back massages when he came home from work. She swore, yet again, never to get involved with anyone else she might be likely to have to work with in future. It never ended well. Inevitably, her thoughts flew to Anderton. Something was different about him lately. He seemed…younger, somehow. More
invigorated
. Kate frowned, and concentrated on what Andrew was saying.

“…not possible to ascertain a definite cause of death,” he continued. “There’s a plethora of further tests to be run though and I’m hopeful that one of those will have the answer. You can read up about it in my report.”

“Thank you,” Kate said hurriedly. He gave her a stony-faced glance and merely nodded before leaving the room. Kate sighed.

“Dear, oh dear,” Theo said with a tinge of malice. “You’re not very popular here at the moment, are you, Kate?”

“Oh, sod off,” Kate said, picking up her bag. “How’s
your
love life these days, anyway, Theo?”

Theo looked smug. “Doing nicely, thank you. Why, want to join the harem?”

Kate laughed, despite herself. “It’s tempting but…no.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Theo said as they left the building together.

“Oh, sod off,” said Kate again, but this time she was grinning as she said it.

“Well?” Olbeck asked after Kate returned to the office. “Get a name?”

Kate shook her head. “Nope. We’ll have to wait for dental records. We don’t even have an official cause of death yet.”

“Drugs overdose,” Anderton said over her shoulder, making her jump. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her which, given Anderton’s usual mode of conduct, was something of a miracle. “I keep telling you. Mark, have you got five minutes?”

Olbeck got up. Kate watched them both walk out and slowly went back to her desk. She felt uncomfortable; frustrated, a bit bored, unsure of what to do next. Unenthusiastically, she began to deal with the paperwork that had accumulated over the past couple of days. She checked her emails, noting that she had one from Bill Osbourne, which made her perk up a little until she realised he was just letting her know about the post mortems for the two bodies found in Arbuthon Green. Well, she wouldn’t be going to those. One session with Andrew’s unspoken resentment was enough for her, thank you very much.

She became aware of the growling of her stomach and realised that it was nearly two o’clock and she’d not yet eaten any lunch. She considered the canteen but it was a lovely day and perhaps a quick sandwich in the nearby park would restore her enthusiasm. Kate picked up her bag and made her way out of the building, passing through the main station reception area as usual. There was a man standing at the front desk, but the only reason Kate noticed him was the phrase he used, identical to the one used by that funny little man who’d changed his mind about reporting a crime.

“I want to report a robbery.”

The moment Kate heard that, she recalled the earlier occasion. She stopped and listened.

“A robbery, sir?” asked the desk sergeant.

The man nodded. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with curling black hair and a rather rakish goatee. Kate, moving closer, thought he would make an excellent pirate.

“Yeah,” he was saying. “Definitely a robbery. I’d rather not give you all the details right here, though. That a problem?”

“That’s fine,” said Kate, stepping smartly up to the counter. Both the man and the sergeant looked a little startled. “I can take this, Sergeant. If you’d like to come with me, sir?”

The man grinned, showing a lot of healthy white teeth. His gaze swept from Kate’s face to her chest, down to her feet and up again. “Hell yeah, officer. Lead on.”

Kate knew she should be offended but instead she felt like laughing. He was just so obvious it was almost a refreshing change from the usual sly ogle. She led him to a vacant interview room and shut the door, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Now,” she said, taking the chair opposite him. “I’m Detective Sergeant Kate Redman. What can I do for you?”

The man’s grin grew wider. Wolfish, Kate thought to herself. The big bad wolf. It made what he had to tell her even more strange.

“I need to report a robbery,” he said, quite easily, as if he were commenting on the weather. “It feels kind of strange to be telling a woman this, though. Not that I’m complaining,” he added hastily. “I never thought I’d be one for the whole ‘doing my duty’ thing, but it kind of feels like that’s what I’m doing, you know what I mean?”

Kate was lost. “Sorry, sir, you’ll have to start from the beginning. You were robbed?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. I’m Jack, by the way, Jack Harker. Yeah, I was robbed. It’s kind of a strange story though.”

Kate smiled brightly. “Well, why don’t you try me?”

Jack Harker looked around, as if there were someone else in the room, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “I was at this bar, in town, last night. Twenty One. You know it?” Kate nodded as if she did, and he went on. “So, I’m having a few drinks, having fun, you know what I mean? These two chicks rock up. Sexy girls, young – you know?” Kate raised her eyebrows and he said hastily, “Not
too
young, early twenties, or something. Foreign. Think they were Eastern European or something. Had that really sexy accent. Anyway, we get talking and drinking and we end up back at my place.”
 

Kate nodded encouragingly, although she wondered where this story was going.

Jack Harker continued. “Anyway, we’re getting down to it and I pick up my drink – that’s about the last thing I
do
remember – and the next thing I know, it’s dark and I’m cold and I’m all alone in my living room, tied to a chair.”

There was a moment’s silence. Kate re-settled herself into her chair and cleared her throat. “You were tied to a chair?”

She would have sworn that Jack Harker was one of those rare human beings incapable of blushing, but a faint rosy hue became visible beneath the dark stubble of his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Seriously, they drugged me and left me tied up in a chair. I was fucking freezing, surprised I didn’t die of exposure.”

“Okay,” said Kate, after a moment. “You believe you were drugged – something in the drink, presumably? – and then robbed. What did they take?”

“My wallet, credit cards. A bit of cash I had in the house. My iPad, my laptop. Everything, really.”

Kate let her eyes fall to the notebook she was ostensibly making notes on. “Would you recognise these women again, if we managed to make an arrest?”

Jack Harker frowned. “I don’t know. They were dark. Long haired, small, sort of thin. A bit thin for me, actually, but, you know...”

“What were their names?”

Jack Harker grinned a little sheepishly. “I can’t remember.”

Kate folded her lips, trying to hide her own smile. “It’s probably not important, sir. They almost certainly gave you false names anyway, if they were planning to rob you.”

“Right. Yeah.”

“Have you seen your doctor? Or been to hospital?”

“No. No, I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.”

Kate leant forward a little. “I really would encourage you to get checked out. Just in case.”

“Okay.” His eyes flickered upwards for a moment and she knew he had no intention of doing what she suggested. Oh well, his loss.

She whisked through the rest of the formalities, gave him a crime identification number, and handed Jack Harker back to the desk sergeant.  He tipped her a wink as he was led away to another interview room and she was unable to stop herself smiling back in response. Then she chastised herself as she turned away. Keep your mind on the job, Kate. The rumbling of her stomach made her realise she really did need some lunch now. She collected her handbag and made her way out of the building, dismissing the handsome Mr. Harker from her mind.

Chapter Four

Kate arrived at the office earlier than usual the next day. Bathed in a glow of righteousness, she was somewhat annoyed to find that Olbeck had beaten her in by some time, judging by the multiple empty coffee cups lined up by his keyboard. She flung her bag under her desk and switched on her computer. While waiting for it to warm up, she wandered over to Olbeck’s office and leant against the door frame. “Want a coffee?”

“Already had three.” Olbeck was hunched over his keyboard, typing furiously. Kate watched him for a moment. There was something different about him, but infuriatingly, she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. New haircut? She dismissed the idea. New suit? No, not that either. What was it?

Olbeck came to the end of whatever sentence he was typing and looked up. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Kate said, straightening up from her slouch. “Just wondering what you’re doing?”

Olbeck looked surprised. “Nothing exciting. Why?”

“No reason…” Kate said nothing more as Olbeck’s phone rang.

He picked it up with his customary greeting. “DI Olbeck here.”

Kate watched. From the nature of Olbeck’s comments, she gathered it was something serious. She saw his eyebrows raise at one point. She should be starting work but she didn’t move. She had the feeling something important had just happened.

Eventually, Olbeck put down the receiver. Kate looked at him expectantly.

“Okay, okay,” said Olbeck. “You know what that was, don’t you?”

“Suspicious death,” Kate said; a statement rather than a question.

“Got it in one.” Olbeck hesitated a moment and then added “It’s Trixie Arlen.”

Kate’s eyes bulged. “Seriously?” she managed, after a moment.

“So patrol says.” Olbeck and Kate looked at each other for a moment in mutual shock. “That’s what they said. They’re at her house now.”

Kate found her voice. “Wow. Seriously, Trixie Arlen?” She was silent for a second and then asked “What happened?”

Olbeck was gathering up his coat and keys. “Nothing tangible, as yet. They just called in to say Trixie Arlen’s been found dead at her home, that’s all.” He looked up. “Will you come with me?”

“Er –
yes
,” said Kate. “Of course I will.”

On the drive there, Kate tinkered with her phone, trying to bring up the Wikipedia page that covered Trixie Arlen’s career, both the early glory years in her days as a Nineties ‘It’ girl and the most recent times with her reinvention as fertile earth mother,
Good Housekeeping
columnist, and luxury kitchen products designer. The signal out in the deep countryside where Trixie Arlen’s farmhouse was situated was terrible and Kate, kept tutting and swearing as the page failed to load and then reload.

“Don’t worry about that now,” said Olbeck eventually. “There’s probably nothing there that’s particularly accurate anyway.”

Kate conceded and put the phone away. “I remember her being on that chat show,” she said. “Do you remember?
Wicked Weekend
?”

Olbeck winced. “God, the nineties…”

“I was about fourteen,” said Kate, grinning. “How old were you when that was on?” she asked, mock-innocently.

Olbeck looked pained. “I was precisely four years older than you,” he cleared his throat and went on, with dignity, “as you well know. And yes,” he continued, looking a little more sober. “I do remember that. And when she lost her first husband and lost the baby…”

Kate’s smile fell from her face. “Oh,” she murmured. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well, she bounced back,” said Olbeck with an ironic grin. “Didn’t she? I remember all the papers from that time. All about the phoenix rising from the ashes and all that bollocks.”

“I’d totally forgotten about the baby,” Kate said, and although she said it quietly, there was something in her voice that made Olbeck look over at her momentarily.

They drove on in silence for a few minutes. They followed a route into the deepest Somerset countryside, the roads gradually narrowing from A roads to B roads, and then to a road that was barely a farm track, hemmed in both sides by the sun-bleached cow parsley, brown bracken and the spreading tentacles of brambles, heavy with berries ripened in the September sun. Up ahead, Kate could see police tape cordoning off the entrance to another lane, crumbling brick columns standing sentinel on either side of the tarmac.

Olbeck showed his ID to the uniformed officer guarding the entrance to the gateway and they were waved through. Olbeck proceeded cautiously, mindful of the time he and Kate had almost been obliterated by a speeding ambulance on the way to a crime scene. They proceeded on this journey without mishap, passing an orchard, a pond and a field of waving wheat, before drawing up in front of a comfortable, shabby sort of house that nevertheless managed to convey an air of wealth, despite its peeling paint and Bohemian aspect. The farmhouse itself had been much extended, and a large silver Range Rover was parked at one side of the circular driveway. There was a building which had clearly once been a stable block, now converted into a garage, which held another black Range Rover and a new model Mini. Thick ropes of wisteria hung over the front of the house, framing the front doorway in drooping fronds of green.

Olbeck and Kate made their way inside, nodding to the constable who guarded the front door. The hallway was tiled in slate, the walls painted a soft green, an antique console table by the front door. A wire basket held children’s shoes and wellingtons, and a canvas shopping bag, printed with a fashionable mid-century design, was hung from the peg rack up on the wall.

Kate and Olbeck followed the murmur of voices and the click and whirr of the crime scene cameras through the house. They glanced into the kitchen, where Kate saw more uniformed officers; a man in an expensive suit sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, a blonde woman, red-eyed and sniffling, sat beside him. That was all she could take in in a swift glance before they continued on through a comfortable and understatedly luxurious sitting room and then a playroom crammed with every conceivable toy, finally ascending a flight of stairs to the first floor.

The bedroom they found themselves in was large and square, dominated by a huge bed with a black iron frame. A grey silk counterpane had slipped to the floor and the bed itself was unmade. Trixie Arlen’s body lay on top, half on her side, one arm dangling from the bed, almost brushing the soft pile of the carpet. Kate and Olbeck paused in the doorway, silently regarding the scene. Doctor Telling had already arrived and was leaning over the body, her deft, gentle fingers already measuring, probing, testing. Kate sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Andrew hadn’t been the pathologist on call and then chastised herself for being so unfeeling.

Several Scene of Crime officers were already working the room and Kate and Olbeck stepped forward a pace or two and then remained still, to allow them to work undisturbed. Doctor Telling noticed them and nodded a silent greeting before turning back to the body.

“It
is
her, isn’t it?” Olbeck asked in a murmur.

Kate nodded uncertainly. She could see it was Trixie Arlen; that face was instantly recognisable from a thousand different television and press appearances, but she could understand Olbeck’s hesitation. Trixie looked…diminished, somehow; shrunken, reduced. But that was understandable. Death was the great leveller, and Trixie’s beauty had always depended heavily on her natural vivacity. She had been cute rather than sexy; rather gamine, the girl-next-door type –
a nice girl
,
attractively wholesome
,
good clean fun
– in the media’s stereotypical clichés.

Kate looked at Trixie’s dead face. More so than usual, the scene felt unreal; a stage set of a crime scene rather than a real one. Was it because the victim was so famous? Kate recalled her first reaction to Olbeck’s news – violent disbelief. Celebrities led charmed lives, didn’t they? Things like this didn’t happen to them – not to the ones who didn’t walk on the wild side.

Kate let her gaze rest on the body, trying to take in as much information as possible. Trixie was dressed in grey marl leggings and a loose pink T-shirt. Her hair – that famous mop of bouncy brown curls – tumbled around her face, partially hiding it. Kate could see the wink of something sparkly in an earlobe, but she wore no other jewellery that Kate could see, except the huge diamond solitaire engagement ring and the plainer wedding band on the hand that dangled from the bed. The tips of her fingers on that hand were already purple with lividity.

There were no obvious signs of violence; no stab wounds, no ligature marks, nothing to indicate a violent death. Was this even a suspicious death? Kate tried to think back on what little she knew of Trixie Arlen from the papers. Had she had any health problems that she’d shared with the media? Kate thought she could recall something about Trixie having fertility treatment; how in God’s name had she managed to retain that bit of trivia? She didn’t even
read
gossip magazines. That was everything she could recall. Momentarily, she remembered the lost baby that Trixie had suffered after the death of her first husband, musician Ivo Wright. A miscarriage at eight months – wasn’t that technically a stillbirth? Kate winced inwardly. Poor woman, what a trauma that must have been.

She came back to reality with a start, realising that Olbeck and Doctor Telling were already conferring. Kate hurried over to join them by the bedside.

“Can you give us any indication at all?” Olbeck asked.

Doctor Telling peeled the surgical gloves from her long, thin fingers. She placed them neatly inside the pocket of her overalls and turned to pick up her medical bag.

“I’m not quite yet ready to give a definitive answer,” she replied quietly. Doctor Telling always spoke quietly; Kate wondered, irrelevantly, if she and Mr. Telling ever had a really good, flaming stand-up row. Doctor Telling continued. “There are several indications as to a probable cause of death but I really don’t want to commit myself before there’s been a proper post-mortem. I’m sorry,” she added, as Olbeck opened his mouth in protest, “but in a case that is bound to be as high profile as this one, I really can’t be seen to get anything wrong.”

“Fine,” Olbeck said, clearly annoyed but able to understand her point. “Can you tell me whether you think it’s a suspicious death or not, at least?”

Doctor Telling paused in the doorway. She shook her head. “I’m almost certain that it isn’t, but that’s all I can say at this point. I’ll be doing the post mortem tomorrow and I hope to see you and DS Redman there. We can discuss it all thoroughly then.”

They had to be content with that. Once Doctor Telling had left to arrange procedures for transporting the corpse to the pathology labs, Kate and Olbeck turned back to look at the body. It still had that same sense of surrealism about it. Kate fought the urge to reach out and touch it, just to check it was real. She stepped back a little and let her gaze swing around the room. Again, it was comfortable, well furnished, all in expensive but conventional good taste. A large wardrobe at the side of the room held seemingly enough clothes to fill a department store. There were several framed photographs on the dressing table, a family shot of Trixie, her husband and three young, cherubic-looking children. Several other individual shots of the children, twin boys and a younger sister from the looks of it.

Kate’s fingers itched to start searching, burrowing through drawers and belongings and under the huge bed, but of course she couldn’t. Olbeck was gesturing that they needed to leave the room to the SOCOs and Kate concurred. They made their way back down to the kitchen.

“Who found the body?” Kate asked as they walked down the stairs.

Olbeck ducked his head to avoid a low beam. “Her husband. He was away last night, on business apparently. He got home very early this morning and found her. The children were still asleep, thank God.”

Kate stopped walking. “The children were
here
? All along?”

Olbeck nodded, his face grim. “I know. Imagine if they’d gone into her room and found her…”

“God,” Kate closed her eyes momentarily. “Thank God her husband came home in time. Is that him in the kitchen?”

“Yes. Shh, we’re almost there.” Olbeck opened the door to the kitchen, which had been closed since they passed it earlier.

The black-suited man had raised his head by this time and was staring across the kitchen table, his face a blank, stony mask. The blonde woman beside him had stopped crying. She sat quietly, occasionally giving an exhausted gasp, as if she’d suddenly run out of air.

“Mr. Jacob Arlen?” asked Olbeck, quietly. The suited man stood to face them. Olbeck held out his hand and Arlen shook it automatically. “I’m Detective Inspector Olbeck and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Redman. I’d just like to convey our sincere condolences for your loss. Do you feel able to answer a few questions? It can wait, if you don’t feel up to it.”

Arlen hesitated. Then he shook his head and said in a low voice, “No. No, it’s fine. It may as well be now.”

“Thank you. Do you mind if we sit down?” At Arlen’s nod of assent, Kate and Olbeck seated themselves at the scrubbed pine table, Kate facing Arlen, Olbeck facing the blonde woman. Arlen introduced her as ‘Kyla Mellors, a good friend of ours.’