On the way to Ridley’s living room, she bumps into Cody coming the other way. He seems wary. Understandably so.
‘Good morning,’ he says. ‘Or isn’t it?’
‘Could be better,’ she says. ‘I’ll tell you later.’ She cranes past him to get a look into the room. ‘What’ve we got?’
Cody nods toward the room and leads her inside. Ridley is face down in the middle of the carpet. There’s a cord around his neck, cutting deeply into the flesh. Kneeling alongside the corpse is the larger-than-life figure of Rory Stroud, the forensic pathologist, who is muttering something into a voice recorder.
So yeah, Webley thinks. This is why I’m just a DC. What was it I was saying about the Toby and Sam angle being a waste of police resources?
She finds herself staring at Ridley’s hair. Thick and dark, like Parker’s. Or how Parker’s used to be. What will he look like now, with it all cut off? And the bigger question: why? Why on earth would he do that? What crazy thoughts are going through Parker’s cold bald head?
She tears her eyes away and scans the room. There are clear signs of a struggle. A coffee table has been overturned. A speaker has been knocked off its stand. There’s a large hole in the glass door of a cabinet.
‘Who found him?’ she asks Cody.
Cody gives her an account of his conversation with Mrs Washington in the flat above. It sounds curiously clipped, though, as if he’s withholding some aspects of it.
‘She didn’t hear the fight, though?’
‘No, but she didn’t get home till after eight. It’s possible he was killed way before that.’
‘Which would explain why we couldn’t get hold of him.’
‘Yup.’
Another white-suited figure hulks towards them like a snowman come to life.
‘Thoughts?’ says DCI Blunt.
‘Well,’ Cody says, ‘there’s an obvious suspect.’
‘Oliver Selby?’
‘He had a strong motive if he believed his wife was having an affair with Ridley.’
‘Ridley said he made that up to impress Toby Hooper.’
‘But Selby probably wouldn’t have known that. And it’s exactly the same MO as that used on Selby’s wife: strangulation in both cases.’
‘I don’t know,’ Webley says.
The other two turn their faces on her.
‘Selby’s encounter with Toby Hooper was about three weeks ago. If he thought the photos and the affair were real, why did it take him so long to murder his wife and Ridley?’
‘Maybe he was gathering more proof,’ Cody said. ‘Or it could have escalated over time. Who knows what goes on behind people’s doors?’
They all look down at Ridley and wonder exactly what went on behind his door yesterday.
Rory Stroud pauses his dictation and then addresses the room. ‘I want to flip the body. Everyone okay with that?’
Getting nods all round, he grabs hold of Ridley and gently rolls him over. Webley notices that Sam Ridley has lost one of his coloured contact lenses. The jarring mismatch in his eyes – one a vivid blue and the other a dull, lifeless grey – seems to add a curious note of finality.
Rory brings his recorder to his mouth, ready to speak again, then halts.
‘Hello,’ he says. ‘What do we have here?’
‘Found something, Rory?’ Blunt asks.
Stroud looks at her. ‘Does this mean anything to you?’
The trio of detectives moves in. Something glints in Ridley’s clenched fist. Webley leans forward for a better view. She sees a gold chain and a pendant consisting of two overlapping letters: an A and an O.
‘I’ve seen that before,’ Webley says. ‘Alexa Selby wore one exactly like it. Oliver made two: one for her and one for him.’
‘That settles it,’ Blunt says. ‘Find Selby. I don’t care what it takes. Just find him.’
19
Silly Love Songs
– Wings
The only clue Parker has to the passage of time is the faint increase in light as it seeps through the thick curtains. Although a thick gloom persists, he can make out furniture and other items in the bedroom. As it did before, it strikes him that this is such a tastefully presented room – totally at odds with the disturbed mind of its owner.
He wonders whether Franklin has done this before. Has some other poor unfortunate soul laid on this bed? Were they stripped of their clothes, their hair? And what became of them after that?
He shudders at the thought.
