‘Down the side of the chair; snapped off, possibly when she was being . . .’ Poland’s voice tailed off, conscious that he was outside and people might be listening. ‘You’ve got a key; just let yourself in. If I get home first I’ll leave you a bowl of the prawn stuff in the microwave.’
‘Thanks very much.’ Dixon dropped his hazmat suit in a plastic crate on the lawn and ran across the road, managing to snatch his coat off the back seat of Poland’s car just before he accelerated off down the lane towards the roadblock at the bottom.
‘There’s been another,’ had been Charlesworth’s words. Which makes two that we know about, thought Dixon. And how many more that we don’t?
‘What have we stumbled on?’ he said, out loud as it turned out.
‘Does that mean there are others, Sir?’ asked Sarah.
‘What time is it?’ Jane was sitting on the edge of the sofa in Poland’s living room, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Monty looked pleased with himself, tail wagging. ‘Yes, I know you’re a handsome prince,’ she said, reaching down and scratching him behind his ears. ‘But there’s no need to kiss me to wake me up.’
‘Works for me,’ said Dixon.
‘You’re different,’ Jane said, through a yawn. She was following him through to the kitchen. ‘I know where you’ve been. Have you eaten?’
‘Not yet.’ Dixon was looking in the microwave, then started taking the cling film off a bowl of curry. ‘What time did Roger get home?’
‘About an hour ago; went straight to bed,’ replied Jane. ‘Here, I’ll do that. I’ll need to boil some fresh rice. You go and sit down.’ She took a beer from the door of the fridge and handed it to him. ‘Take that with you.’
‘Thanks.’
Jane glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s two o’clock! Where have you been?’
‘Express Park. Mark came in and we’ve got some doorbell camera footage he’s working on – checking the traffic cameras. I’ve lined up house to house for tomorrow. Scientific are still at the scene so I can’t get in; thought I’d come and get a few hours’ sleep.’
Jane dropped a handful of dog biscuits in Monty’s tin bowl, then raised her voice over the sound of it being pushed around the kitchen floor. ‘Tell me about it then.’
Dixon leaned forwards, his elbows on the kitchen table, and closed his eyes. ‘Who would want to strangle an eighty-eight-year-old woman in her own home?’
‘Not unexplained then?’
‘Sadly not.’ A swig of beer. ‘It was Sarah who spotted it. There was something on the intranet, apparently.’
‘I read that. There was one in Sidmouth and they missed it. Uniform put two and two together, assumed the old codger had died in his sleep and just referred it straight to the coroner. Turned out it was foul play.’
‘I’ve got a superintendent from Devon coming up in the morning to stick his nose in.’
‘You’ll need to stick your nose into his case too, don’t forget. And you’ll have to watch they don’t put a regional task force in place. You’ll love that; a superintendent outranks you.’
It was a point that had occurred to him, and might explain Charlesworth’s unusual interest in the case. It wasn’t often he came down to Express Park at all, thankfully, and rarely at that time in the morning. The delivery of bad news could account for it.
‘I reckon he’ll want us to take the lead if that happens,’ continued Jane. ‘So you should be all right. It’d be good publicity, and you know how much he loves that.’
‘The last thing we need is publicity. If word gets out there’s someone going round – in an NHS uniform – killing old people in their own homes, you can just imagine the panic.’
‘Is that what happened in Sidmouth?’ asked Jane. She was leaning against the worktop in the kitchen, her hands resting on her bump.
‘I don’t know yet,’ replied Dixon. ‘But I’ve got a horrible feeling this is just the start of it.’
Chapter Four
‘I wouldn’t hold your breath.’
The streetlights had gone off in the lane outside Deirdre’s bungalow just after midnight, and it was still dark when Dixon was let through the cordon the following morning, the front garden lit only by the arc lamp set up by Scientific Services. He had squeezed past the line of plastic crates on the path and was standing under the gazebo, tearing open the plastic wrapper of yet another hazmat suit.
‘I reckon your killer is forensically aware,’ continued Donald Watson, the senior Scientific Services officer. ‘There are plenty of fingerprints, but none where you’d expect to find them. The arms of that chair, for example.’ He pulled his face mask below his chin and gave an exaggerated wince. ‘Wooden, but not a single print. Wiped clean.’
‘Haven’t you found anything?’
‘We’ve taken the usual tapings and scrapings. There are fingerprints, but plenty of people to eliminate: Mrs Baxter, the carer, the hairdresser, a stepson and his wife. Even her bloody solicitor had been in there. Uniform were at least wearing latex gloves. Like I say, I wouldn’t hold your breath.’
‘Can I go in? I’ve got a couple of hours before I need to be at Express Park.’
‘Yes, might as well.’ Watson turned back into the hall. ‘Can’t do any harm now.’
Jane had left before Dixon had woken up, but he knew where she’d be. No doubt an incident room would be up and running by the time he got to Express Park; if a major investigation team was in the offing, she’d be making damn sure she was on it.
It explained why Detective Constable Mark Pearce had come in to work the night before too. At a bit of loose end these days, was Mark, and a murder investigation would give him a sense of purpose, perhaps.
It was a small team, what was left of it.
A double-fronted bungalow, with a bay window either side of the front door, a dining room on the left that looked as though it hadn’t been used in years. Dark oak furniture, a layer of dust on the oval table; oil paintings on the wall, a sideboard with several decanters on a silver tray – all of them empty; photographs in sterling silver frames, slightly tarnished. Black and white pictures of Deirdre on her wedding day; a more recent photograph of husband and wife holding a trophy. Golf probably – she’d been good at that, according to her carer.
Someone played the piano too, an upright gathering dust against the wall behind the door.
‘I’ve had a quick look, but we haven’t done in there yet, so be careful,’ said Watson, when Dixon turned to the room opposite. ‘It’s used for storage, like the old-fashioned lumber room. I reckon they must’ve downsized at some point and dumped the furniture they didn’t need in there.’
