Dead Level (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 5) (7 page)

Jane was tapping out a text message when she was distracted by the smell of concentrated screenwash and the clunk of Janice’s windscreen wiper.

‘That came in quick.’

‘It did,’ said Janice, switching on her headlights.

Jane looked up at the sky ahead. It was a mass of thick grey cloud, swirling much as the water in the River Parrett had been doing yesterday and was no doubt still doing today. She clicked ‘Send’ on the text message and then checked the weather on her phone. A small black cloud with two raindrops underneath it denoting heavy rain was forecast for the rest of Christmas Day and Boxing Day. She scrolled down. The forecast was the same right through to New Year’s Eve.

‘It’s going to be pissing down for days.’

‘Well, we’re not going to be out in it, are we?’ replied Janice.

Jane looked down at the King’s Sedgemoor Drain from the elevated motorway roundabout at junction 23. The usually still and clear water was chocolate brown in colour and flowing fast.

‘I’ve never seen that before.’

Janice leaned over in her seat and peered out of the passenger window.

‘They must have the sluice gates open at Dunball.’

It was just after 1 p.m. when they turned into Express Park.

‘There’ll be plenty of spaces on the ground floor,’ said Jane. ‘And we’ll be under cover.’

‘Good thinking.’

Working on Christmas Day had its advantages. And no shortage of parking spaces in the staff car park was one of them. It was also just about the only positive thing she could think of when it came to the budget cuts.

The station was eerily quiet, except for the CID area on the first floor. As she headed over to the coffee machine, Jane spotted Harry Unwin, Dave Harding and Mark Pearce, all engaged in an animated conversation with DCI Lewis. She also recognised the press officer, Vicky Thomas.

‘Well done, Janice,’ said DCI Lewis.

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘We’ve got a press conference lined up for 6 p.m.’

‘Has someone told the husband?’ asked Janice.

Jane was listening from the coffee machine.

‘Family liaison are with him now.’

‘Good. Well, let’s make a start.’

Jane followed Janice across the landing to meeting room two and placed a coffee on the table in front of her.

‘Right, let’s start with the forensics. What evidence have we got placing him at the scene?’ asked Janice.

‘We’ve got a DNA profile off the cigarette butt on the landing,’ replied Harding. ‘It’s clear and it matches John Stanniland on the database.’

‘And there’s ash on her body and on the congealed blood . . .’ said DCI Lewis.

‘So, we can prove it came after the murder.’

‘We can,’ replied Lewis.

‘Anything else?’

‘No. The cigarettes in the lane are the same brand, but that’s it,’ replied Harding.

‘And nothing from the vomit?’

‘No.’

‘What about trace DNA?’

‘Plenty from her husband and from her, of course. Hair, skin, saliva. Nothing else though,’ replied Harding.

‘What about under her fingernails?’

‘To be confirmed.’

‘So, we can assume no one else was there then,’ said Janice.

‘Possibly,’ replied Lewis.

‘What about the footprints in the back garden?’

‘We’ve got imprints off them but they don’t match any of his shoes. Right size, but that’s it.’

‘He’s probably got rid of them,’ said Pearce.

‘Same for his clothes,’ said Harding.

‘What about the van?’ asked Janice.

‘Reported stolen yesterday at 5.32 p.m. Not turned up yet though.’

‘When was it stolen?’

‘Sometime in the previous forty-eight hours. That’s all he could say, apparently.’

‘Anything on the traffic cameras?’

‘We’ve got a white van getting on the M5 at junction 24 and going north at 2.12 a.m. but there’s no number plate visible.’

‘Why not?’

‘Covered with mud, I expect. Either deliberately or . . .’ replied Harding. ‘We’re getting it enhanced now.’

‘So, he headed south to go north?’

‘Avoids all the cameras in the town,’ said Lewis.

‘What about further north?’

‘We’ve got him getting off at 21 then nothing after that,’ replied Harding.

‘What about his neighbours?’

‘Fully paid up members of the “see no evil, hear no evil” brigade,’ said Pearce.

‘Don’t they know this is a murder investigation?’ asked Janice.

‘Saw nothing, heard nothing. And they gave that answer before they even heard the question.’

‘Gits,’ said Harding.

‘What about the murder weapons?’ asked Janice.

‘Murder weapon,’ said Lewis.

‘There were two knives, Sir. One made the visible injuries and then a longer knife was inserted into a wound in her back. That’s the one that went into the heart and killed her.’

‘Have we had Poland’s report then?’ asked Lewis.

‘Not yet,’ replied Janice. ‘Jane went to the post mortem last night.’

Lewis looked at Jane and nodded.

‘What do we think happened then?’ he asked.

‘His knife wasn’t long enough so he got another from the kitchen, perhaps?’ asked Jane.

‘He could have just cut her throat, surely?’

‘He’d stabbed her twice in the neck and it had made him sick, don’t forget.’

‘He’s not got a strong stomach, has he?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘What about motive?’ asked Lewis.

‘We’ll need to speak to the husband again. See if their paths have ever crossed but, apart from that, we don’t have one,’ replied Janice.

‘Burglary gone wrong,’ said Pearce.

‘There’s always that possibility,’ said Lewis. ‘Drives out to a rural area, picks a remote cottage he thinks is empty . . .’

‘Surely he’d take the cash out of her purse?’ asked Jane.

‘Not necessarily, if he’s smart,’ replied Janice. ‘Stolen goods might connect him to the murder and cash can be traced from serial numbers.’

‘Does he look smart to you?’ asked Jane.

‘No, but let’s go and find out, shall we?’

‘Well?’

‘No comment,’ replied Janice, throwing her empty coffee cup in the bin. ‘No bloody comment to every single question.’

DCI Lewis sighed, loudly.

‘He didn’t even offer an alibi?’

‘No.’

‘Who was his solicitor?’

‘Duty solicitor from Taunton. Harrison. It was a bit of a struggle to get him to come out at all, until he found out it was a murder.’

‘Twat.’

‘A fair assessment,’ replied Janice.

‘Was there any reaction to anything?’

‘Not really . . .’

‘Only when we asked him about the two knives,’ interrupted Jane. ‘He looked . . .’ she hesitated.

‘What?’ asked Lewis.

‘Surprised.’

‘That we knew or that there were two knives?’

‘I couldn’t tell,’ replied Jane, shaking her head.

She noticed Mark Pearce standing behind Janice, so she nodded in his direction. Janice turned round.

‘What?’

‘They’ve found his van.’

‘Where is it?’

‘In a field off,’ Pearce looked down at a piece of paper, ‘East Dundry Lane. It’s south of the city.’

‘Burnt out, I suppose?’

‘Incinerated is probably a more accurate description. They’re emailing over some photos now though.’

‘We’ll get nothing off that then,’ said Janice.

‘Did they find anything at his flat?’ asked Lewis.

‘No, Sir,’ replied Pearce.

‘So, have we got enough to charge him?’ Jane and Janice recognised the rhetorical question. They waited. ‘We can place him at the scene,’ continued Lewis, ‘standing over the body on the landing and smoking a cigarette. We’ve got a white van matching the description of Stanniland’s getting on the M5 at junction 24 and heading north. At or near the time of death . . .’ his voice tailed off.

‘And we’ve got a suspect who’s offered no alibi,’ said Janice.

Lewis grimaced.

‘We need more, I think. Let’s get an extension and see what else we can find. We’ve got time,’ said Lewis. ‘Then we’ll do the press conference, Janice. All right?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘I’ll ring the husband now.’

Jane was standing in the large windows on the first floor at Express Park, looking down at DCI Lewis. He was flanked by Janice and Vicky Thomas, who were holding umbrellas, and was talking to a group of reporters. Some were holding Dictaphones in front of him while
others
were pointing television cameras at him. Several flashes were also going off at regular intervals. The press conference, such as it was, did not last long, the agreed script having been short and to the point.

A forty-one year old Bristol man had been arrested that morning on suspicion of the murder of Mrs Elizabeth Perry, who had been killed by an intruder at home in the early hours of Christmas Eve. A more detailed statement would follow in due course and, in the meantime, the members of the press were asked to respect the family’s request for privacy at this difficult time.

Fat chance.

She could just about make out muffled shouts from below and guessed from the animated gestures of some of the reporters that they were now firing questions at DCI Lewis. Jane watched him turn and walk back into the station. Then she watched a male reporter standing under an umbrella talking into a television camera. She recognised none of them, but then she rarely watched the news.

‘C’mon, Jane. I’ll give you a lift home.’

‘Thanks, Jan.’

‘Let’s go and see what’s left of Christmas, shall we?’

Jane hesitated on the pavement outside the cottage, watching the rain bounce off the roof of Janice’s car as she drove off. She looked across at the Red Cow. It was closed, so Dixon must be at home, although it struck her as odd that Monty was quiet. He usually barked at the slightest noise outside.

She wondered if Dixon had got her text message telling him she was on her way, but then he was probably fast asleep on the sofa with Monty curled up on his lap. It was just before 7 p.m. and too early for them to have gone to bed, surely?

Jane inserted her key in the lock, turned it and the door swung open. It took her a moment to recognise that it was Monty standing in front of her. Perhaps it was the pair of reindeer antlers he was wearing? He looked none too pleased about it either.

‘There you are,’ said Dixon, thrusting a tumbler into her hand before she had even closed the front door behind her. The bottle of Bombay Sapphire in his other hand confirmed the glass contained a gin and tonic.

‘You’ve got twenty minutes till supper,’ he said.

‘You’ve cooked?’

‘Roast turkey and all the trimmings. With a little help from Aunt Bessie,’ replied Dixon, grinning.

Jane smiled. She could get used to this. She could even overlook the frozen roast potatoes.

‘I thought you’d be legless by now.’

‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘Only your text message was a bit garbled.’

‘That was my gloves.’

‘I thought you’d had a few.’

‘We went up the hill for a change. Then it started pissing down so we had to shelter in the Red Cow.’

‘Of course, you did.’

‘You got him then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who made the arrest?’

‘Harry Un . . .’ Jane stopped mid-sentence. She had not told Dixon that Harry was involved in the investigation.