Strange Blood (3 page)

Foy shook his head. ‘Not unless we've missed something, no. The SOCOs only finished this morning but if they'd found anything like that I'd have heard by now.'

Megan nodded slowly. ‘Well, in that case I'd be very wary of going down that path,' she said. ‘That star or pentagram or whatever you want to call it could easily be the work of an experienced sex killer who's deliberately trying to confuse you.'

‘Okay.' Foy reached for the close-up of the stab wounds and held it out. ‘Let's set aside the pentagram for the moment,' he said. ‘Let's concentrate on these.' He tapped the photo with his fingernail. ‘According to the pathologist's report she was stabbed thirty-five times. Five of the wounds penetrated the heart and twelve perforated the lung. Any one of those could have been fatal. The rest vary in depth. Some are so deep they've actually damaged the skin on her back. Others are superficial, pricking-type injuries.' He looked up, his eyebrows knitted.

‘Like I said,' Megan replied, ‘This could be a guy who is turned on by penetration with a knife instead of a penis.'

‘Yes, I know,' Foy nodded, ‘but isn't what we're looking at here a classic case of overkill?'

Megan raised her eyebrows, challenging him to go on.

‘Which suggests,' he said in a tone she had often heard him use during her seminars, ‘that Tessa Ledbury almost certainly knew her killer.'

Megan listened patiently while Foy regurgitated chunks of the numerous books by FBI profilers he had acquired since attending Megan's course. ‘That's the rule of thumb for overkill, isn't it?' he said. ‘If a victim is stabbed more than twenty times it's something personal. She knew the guy who did it.'

‘So you're telling me that if you come across a corpse who's been stabbed nineteen times you'll automatically rule out the wife or the husband?' Megan stared at him. ‘Come on, Steve, you know that's complete crap.'

‘Oh, so you're saying the entire Behavioural Science division at Quantico are talking through their arses, are you?' His face had gone very pink.

‘No, Steve, that's not what I'm saying at all,' Megan sighed. ‘What I'm saying is that it's not very helpful to tout some finite number of stab wounds when you're trying to work out who's responsible for a murder. I agree with you about the overkill thing, actually.'

He looked at her, a confused expression on his face.

‘I think this attack
was
personal. But the level of forensic awareness makes me doubt that it was a straightforward crime of passion. To leave no trace of himself after such a frenzied attack would have required a lot of planning, which suggests Tessa didn't know him but
he
knew
her.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I think there's a good chance that the killer knew the victim without her even realising it.' She turned to the photographs again, selecting one of the establishing shots of Tessa Ledbury's house. ‘You said there was no sign of a break-in,' she said, ‘and it happened sometime after she'd dropped her kids off at school. In the morning. In broad daylight. I presume no one was seen calling at the house?'

He shook his head. ‘Well,' she said, ‘on what you've given me so far, I'd say this could be the work of an experienced burglar and sex attacker who's progressed to murder. Someone who chooses a victim, maybe stalks her for a while, and gets into the house when he's sure she's alone. Like I said, he knows her but she doesn't necessarily know him.'

‘Right,' Foy said, nodding slowly. ‘She represents someone he wants to kill but can't for some reason. And he hates this woman so much he stabs her again and again; completely loses control…' He looked at her. ‘I want you to come and brief the team.'

Megan smiled, glad to see his face had returned to its normal colour. ‘Okay, but first I need to know more about Tessa Ledbury. What was she like?'

Foy opened his briefcase. He unzipped a pocket in the lid and pulled out another photograph, handing it to Megan. It showed a smiling woman in a garden, standing with her arm around the shoulder of a girl who looked about seven years old. The child had the same blonde curly hair as her mother.

‘She was thirty-six,' Foy began, ‘Five foot five, weighed nine and a half stone…'

‘No, Steve,' Megan cut in, ‘I mean what was she
really
like? As a person?'

‘Well, she was a housewife with three kids,' he faltered. ‘Not a lot else really. Oh yeah, she was a Sunday School teacher at St. Paul's church in Pendleton.'

‘And that's all you know?'

‘Well, that's basically it, yes,' Foy said defensively. ‘We've spoken to neighbours, friends at the church, other mothers from the school her kids went to. It was the same story from all of them. Devoted wife, mother, church member…'

‘You said on the phone there was no hint of any affair, but are you sure there's no one who might have had a grudge against her? I mean, we've both been making the assumption that the killer's a man, but it could just have easily have been a woman.

Foy took the photograph from her outstretched hand and stared at it. ‘A jealous wife, you mean?'

‘Possibly.' Megan's eyes narrowed. ‘For all we know, she could've been a closet lesbian murdered by an over-possessive girlfriend.'

‘Oh, come on!' Foy's eyebrows arched. ‘I mean, statistically, it's likely to be a man.'

‘I was being sarcastic, Steve. My point is I need to know a lot more details – if only to rule things out. I mean, apart from doing the housework and looking after the kids, how did she fill her days? Was she a member of any clubs or sports centres? Were there any particular places she went shopping? Did they have a dog, and if so, where did she take it for walks? Any details of that kind might lead to the killer.'

‘Okay. I mean yes, we're already looking into all those things…'

‘And I'll need to look at the house,' Megan said quickly. ‘I'm not trying to suggest your lot have missed anything. I just think it'd help me get a better picture of her.'

‘Sure. Could you meet me there at about nine-thirty tomorrow morning?'

‘With a bit of re-arrangement of lectures, yes, I should think so. Can I keep these?' Megan nodded at the photographs. ‘I'll have another look through them tonight and read the pathologist's report.'

‘Right'. Foy stood up and put on his jacket. ‘Oh, I didn't tell you about the appeal,' he said, feeling in his pocket and pulling out a video cassette.

Megan took the tape and slotted it into her machine. ‘The husband?' she asked as an image flickered onto the screen.

‘Yes. Poor sod found her after the school phoned him at work. No one had turned up to collect the kids.'

They watched the video in silence.

‘What's his alibi?, Megan asked as she rewound the tape.

‘He was in meetings all day. They had to call him out of one to fetch the children.'

‘Where is he now?'

‘Staying at his mother's.'

‘Lucky he's got one,' Megan said, pressing ‘Eject'. ‘He's certainly going to need her with three kids to bring up on his own.'

*   *   *

Delva Lobelo was waiting for the microwave. Chicken in Black Bean Sauce with Egg Fried Rice. For One. She perched on the kitchen table, a glass of chilled white wine in her hand, and tossed the empty box into the bin. Her aim was perfect but instead of slithering down the box stuck out. The bin was too full. She swore loudly. It could wait until tomorrow to be emptied.

She had just changed her clothes for the second time that day. The gloomy black suit was hanging in the wardrobe at work. Clad now in jeans and a T-shirt, with her feet stuck into a pair of old espadrilles, she was finally beginning to relax.

The phone rang just as the microwave pinged and Delva ignored it, reaching across to liberate the steaming food. After five rings the answering machine cut in. Delva picked up a knife to rip open the sachets of food but stopped when she heard the voice.

‘Delva, it's Megan Rhys. I've just been talking to Steve Foy from Wolverhampton police…'

Delva dropped the knife and bounded across to the phone. ‘Hi Megan. Sorry about the answerphone – I was just getting something out of the microwave.'

‘Oh, sorry,' Megan said, ‘I'll phone you back later, shall I?'

‘No, it's okay. What's happened? Is it about the stabbing?'

‘Yes. I've just been watching the interview you did with the victim's husband and there are a couple of things I wanted to ask you, but it's not urgent – honestly, I'll call you back.'

‘Well why don't you pop round?' Delva asked. ‘I've just opened a bottle of wine…'

Half an hour later Megan was sitting on the huge squashy sofa in Delva's living room.

‘There you go.' Delva handed her a glass of wine. ‘I'd offer you some food but I've just eaten the last thing in the fridge!' She gave Megan a rueful grin.

‘It's okay, really,' Megan said, smiling in spite of herself. ‘I couldn't have eaten anything anyway. Crime scene photographs, you know…'

‘Ugh, I can imagine.' Delva pulled a face. ‘When did Steve Foy get hold of you? He said something about you being in Dublin…'

‘Yes, I didn't get the message till the plane landed. Anyway, he came round to the house and he brought a recording of the interview.' Megan took a sip of wine and laid the glass down on the coffee table. ‘What was he like, this Richard Ledbury?'

‘Well,' Delva said, folding her long legs underneath her in the armchair opposite, ‘He was a complete mess at first. I didn't even think we were going to get him out of the car. He'd been very much against the idea of being interviewed anyway, and it was only when Terry Bond – you know, the press officer from West Mids HQ?' She paused and Megan nodded. ‘It was only when he suggested a pooled interview that Richard agreed,' Delva went on. ‘I was the one they chose to do it and the agreement was that the other channels would get to use the footage. Anyway, Richard insisted we do the interview at his house. When Terry Bond told me I thought it was a really bad idea. I mean, we'd offered him a studio at BTV or one of the interview rooms at Tipton Street nick. We even offered to go to his mother's house,' she leaned across to top up Megan's glass, ‘But he wouldn't budge. The police said it would be okay because the SOCOs had finished, but I was sure he'd crack up when it came to the interview.'

‘But he didn't?'

‘No, that was the amazing thing. He was the original one-take wonder.'

Megan took another mouthful of wine. ‘When you were talking to him did you get the impression there was any kind of trouble in the marriage?' She looked at the glass in her hand, rolling the stem between her finger and thumb. ‘I mean, before the interview started, did he say anything that made you think that stuff about how wonderful his wife was might be a bit bogus?'

Delva thought for a moment. ‘He didn't say a lot beforehand,' she said. ‘It was like treading on eggshells. I was just making small talk, really.' She frowned and looked at the carpet, running the images of the morning through her head. ‘He showed me a wedding photo and pointed out a sundial that she'd bought him as a present. He said it was their wedding anniversary last week.'

‘Last week?' Megan's eyebrows furrowed.

‘Yes. Why? Do you think it's significant?'

‘It could be.' Megan looked at Delva. ‘Birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, New Year, you know what it's like – people take stock, don't they?'

Delva nodded slowly.

‘If Tessa Ledbury had been having an affair,' Megan said, ‘She might have decided on their wedding anniversary that she couldn't go on pretending any more. Perhaps she told Richard.'

‘But he can't have done it!' Delva protested, ‘I mean, physically, it couldn't have been him. He left the house at ten past eight and she was still alive at ten to nine. Loads of people saw her when she dropped her kids at school…'

‘I know, I know,' Megan said. ‘I'm not saying that. What I meant was she might have decided to end her affair. To save her marriage.'

‘Oh, I see!' Delva said. ‘You think the lover did it?'

‘Well, that's the point. I don't even know if there was a lover. The police certainly don't think there was. But it could have been the sort of affair she wouldn't even tell her best friend about. That's why I wondered if you'd picked anything up from Richard's behaviour.'

‘Hmm, yes, I see.' Delva sat back in her chair, rubbing her chin. ‘Honestly though, Megan, if there was anything I must have missed it. I got the impression he was very much in love with her.'

‘Haven't you ever found, though,' Megan said, putting down her empty glass, thinking out loud, ‘that in marriages that seem really shaky the wife or husband can go completely over-the-top in terms of grief when the partner dies?'

‘Yes, I suppose that does sometimes happen,' Delva said. ‘In fact my parents were a bit like that. Always at each other's throats, but when Dad died Mum was inconsolable.'

‘Well I'm not saying Richard Ledbury necessarily comes into that category, but it's something I need to rule out before I can stick my neck out with a profile.' Megan looked at Delva. ‘Off the record,' she said, ‘I'm not convinced Tessa was murdered by anyone who had a close relationship with her.'

Delva raised her eyebrows. ‘So you think it was a stranger? Someone who broke into the house?'

‘Like I said, this is all off the record, but yes, I think it could have been someone who knew of her but didn't actually know her, if you see what I mean. Someone who knew where she lived and knew she was alone in the house at that particular time.'