‘No one came to see Thomas. Er, that’s Lynn, she was visiting her mother. That’s Mr Fellows visiting John Jackson. I know Mr Fellows, he’s a local solicitor. I don’t know who that is.’ She turned the book to face Dixon and pointed at an entry. ‘I don’t know who April Smith is. It says she’s visiting Doris, but she’s certainly not a relative or friend – that I know of anyway.’
‘Can you find out who let this person in?’ asked Dixon. ‘They must’ve rung the bell and been let in by someone.’
‘I’ll check the duty roster for the day, see who was in,’ said Jenny, stepping back to open a filing cabinet.
‘Do residents ever answer the door?’
‘Some do. Some have dementia, which is why we keep it locked, but we have a few who are able to do it. We ask them not to, but they still do it,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘Here we are. Yeah, we’ve got a couple who aren’t in today.’
‘Leave it for now,’ said Dixon. ‘We’ll confirm if we need the information.’
‘Which room was he in?’ asked Louise.
‘Top of the stairs, on the right.’ Jenny frowned. ‘Sorry, are you saying someone came in here and killed Tom?’
‘Possibly, yes,’ replied Dixon. ‘We’ll be exhuming his body for a post mortem, although that is highly confidential.’
‘I understand,’ said Jenny, taking a deep breath. ‘But no one signed in to see Thomas that day.’
‘Would a member of staff check what a visitor had written in the book?’
‘No, almost certainly not. They’d just tell them to sign in and then point them in the right direction.’
‘What about asking for ID?’
‘No, not if they explained who they were and who they were visiting.’
‘So, they could write any old rubbish in the book, pick a name at random from other visits further up the page – Doris, for example – and they’re in.’ Dixon sighed. ‘Does anyone show them out?’
‘No. There’s a code to get out, but it’s on the wall. It’s just to stop the dementia patients, really.’
‘What about CCTV?’
‘There’s some in the entrance lobby, but we only keep it for thirty days, I’m afraid.’
‘You drive, Lou,’ Dixon said, lobbing his car keys to her over the bonnet. ‘I’ve got to ring the Worshipful Raymond Lodge KC.’
‘Where to?’
‘Express Park.’ He managed to put his telephone call off ten minutes by flicking through Thomas Fowler’s address book, not that he recognised any of the names. Some of the phone numbers were disguised pin numbers – obvious even to the untrained eye – unless he really did know people called Lloyd and Barclay. It was possible.
Dixon checked his phone; a full signal, so it was now or never.
‘You want a faculty for exhumation, I gather?’ said Lodge, introductions having been made by the telephone receptionist.
‘Yes, Sir,’ replied Dixon.
‘There’s a presumption that a Christian burial is permanent, the final resting place; it’s a high hurdle to get over and you need to satisfy the court there are special circumstances giving me a good and proper reason to make an exception. Usually—’
‘Usually you wouldn’t have two confirmed murder victims, if I may say so, Sir,’ interrupted Dixon. ‘You also wouldn’t have a potential serial killer on the loose and a senior police officer telling you that the deceased might very well be the first victim.’ If ever there was a time to be bandying those words about, it was now. ‘I need to catch whoever is killing these elderly people, and I need to do it before I find myself having to explain to another family that their beloved grandmother or grandfather is dead.’
‘I’ve seen a draft of the petition. He was in a care home, this chap, according to the death certificate.’
‘He was, Sir, but the eyewitness evidence we have at the moment is that the last person to see Deirdre Baxter in her own home was dressed in an occupational therapist’s uniform. I’m sure you will appreciate that if that is right, he or she would have had no difficulty gaining access to a care home.’
‘The cause of death is given as old age.’
‘That just means the doctor had no real idea what killed Thomas.’
‘Somewhat harsh, perhaps.’
‘There were no suspicious circumstances, Sir. No one had any reason to believe anything untoward had gone on and, consequently, no referral was made to the coroner.’
‘Explain to me the urgency. In the ordinary course of events we’d have a hearing, although I couldn’t fit that in until the end of next month.’
‘We’re trying to find a serial killer, Sir.’ Dixon’s voice was taut, trying to hide his rising frustration. ‘We need to stop him or her before they kill again. It really is as simple as that.’
‘Yes, of course. Has the son consented?’
‘He has, Sir. A copy of the notice duly endorsed will be sent over to you with the petition.’
‘And the coroner’s direction, I hope.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘When do you plan to perform the exhumation, assuming I grant the faculty?’
