Enigma

  * * *

  10:20 hours

  ‘Thanks for dropping by, Mr Butterfield,’ Love said as he indicated a seat.

  He and Stuart were in conference room number one. The room was medium-sized. Informal. Decorated in smooth browns and beige offset against splashes of vibrant orange, yellow and blue. A large mirror hung from one wall, a two-way mirror.

  Large plants in containers were placed in all four corners of the room. Artificial. A large wooden coffee table sat off-centre surrounded by four brown corduroy and steel comfy chairs.

  An orange-coloured dried flower arrangement sat in the middle of the table and to the side of that a tape recorder. It belonged to Love. It was an old cassette player.

  The large window overlooked central London and in the distance stood Battersea Power Station. Its four chimneys standing to attention like large brick skittles defying to be knocked down. Beige blinds flapped in the gentle breeze coming from the crack in the window which Love had opened minutes before. It was a comfortable room and gave nothing away. It could have been a room in any office or home.

  Stuart nodded to Butterfield. ‘Hello, Mr Butterfield, how are you?’

  Derek Butterfield sat down in the chair nearest to him. He was wearing a thick corduroy jacket, woollen gloves and scarf. The gloves and scarf looked home-made. He leant forward slightly and placed his gloves on the table in front of him. He unpeeled the unruly woollen snake from his neck as he spoke.

  ‘Not too bad, thank you, Detective Le Fanu.’

  ‘Good,’ Stuart said. ‘Glad to hear it.’ He smiled and flicked back his hair with a toss of his head. He looked like he’d stepped from a cover of a magazine of which he had no idea and was partly what made him so attractive. That and his complete lack of vanity.

  Love leant forward in his chair opposite Butterfield’s and pressed the “record” and “play” buttons on the tape recorder. He spoke. He recorded the time, date and persons present.

  ‘Now, Mr Butterfield, I’m sorry if this is painful for you,’ Love began. ‘But we’ve been reviewing your wife’s autopsy photographs.’ Love stopped talking.

  Butterfield was staring at Love. Listening intently. His face giving nothing away.

  ‘Would you like a coffee or tea? I’m sorry I should have asked straight away.’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. I had a coffee just before I left work,’ Butterfield said as he glanced at his watch. ‘I hope this doesn’t take too much time I have a meeting to get back to.’

  ‘No, we won’t take any longer than necessary,’ Stuart said. He was sitting in the chair next to Butterfield.

  Love continued. ‘I’m sorry to have to ask this but did your wife practice sadism?’

  The two detectives waited for the expected explosion. It didn’t come. Butterfield dropped his head and looked at the carpet. He focussed on a small stain where someone had recently split some coffee.

  Love followed his gaze.

  A few moments passed before Butterfield spoke. ‘For the last few months of Carol’s life it was like living with a stranger.’

  ‘How so?’ Stuart asked softly.

  ‘She changed,’ he said, as he began wiping his hands on his trousers.

  ‘Changed how?’ asked Love.

  ‘Suddenly, ordinary sex was out of the question,’ he broke off momentarily. ‘Not that we indulged that often because we didn’t but suddenly she wanted me to do things and I refused.’

  ‘Mr Butterfield, what sort of things, please, it’s important.’

  Butterfield looked up at Love. His eyes looked hollow as though the memory of it was too painful to talk about. ‘She wanted me to pour hot candle wax on her body and…’

  Love and Stuart looked at each other. ‘And?’ Love prompted.

  ‘And to scratch fine lines on her.’

  ‘And you say you refused?’ asked Stuart.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you pour hot candle wax on your wife?’

  ‘No,’ Butterfield answered quietly and firmly.

  ‘Did you scratch your wife during sexual relations as a form of sadism?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you ever perform sadism with your wife?’

  Butterfield flinched. ‘No, Detective Le Fanu, I didn’t.’

  ‘Not even once? Just to see if you liked it?’

  Butterfield stared at Love. ‘Detective Love, you don’t have to eat gravel to know you wouldn’t enjoy it.’ Butterfield glanced down at his hands which were resting on each of his knees. He glanced up again and smiled a thin smile. ‘I refused. And she didn’t seem to care. That was the strangest thing about it. Her not caring. She didn’t even argue the point.’

  ‘You didn’t ask her how this sudden desire came about?’ Love asked.

  ‘I didn’t think to ask,’ he said. He wiped his hands vigorously back and forth on his knees.

  ‘Did you continue to have sexual relations?’ asked Stuart.

  ‘No, we didn’t.’ Butterfield shifted his weight. ‘A couple of weeks later my relationship with Linda progressed to a more intimate basis and then a few months after that… Carol was dead.’

  ‘When did your wife change her sexual preferences,’ asked Love. ‘Can you remember?’

  ‘Yes, I do remember.’

  ‘You seem certain of the date, why is that?’ asked Stuart.

  ‘Because it was one week after Stephen’s operation.’ He looked at Stuart. ‘And a week after she began her volunteer visits at the hospital.’

  ‘How interesting was that?’ Love said as he rolled his baseball around in his hand.

  Stuart walked over to his desk and sat down. He punched in a few details and the reports for both Monica Dixon and Carol Butterfield came up on his screen. He directed his mouse and clicked a couple of icons. The details of both victims began to scroll down side by side. He moved his finger and the mouse clicked again. The speed of the scrolling decreased to a crawl.

  Stuart stared at the screen. ‘At least now we have a tentative link,’ he said, and looked over at Love. ‘As far as Carol Butterfield is concerned.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Love replied. ‘Time we went back to St Katherine’s.’

  ‘You go. I can stay on here and follow up on our other lead.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘More of a hunch really but I’ll say it’s a lead as it sounds good in case the commander asks.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘The hospital security tapes.’

  Love grinned. ‘Come with me to the hospital.’

  Stuart looked intently at Love. ‘Something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘How well you know me,’ Love quipped.

  He was thinking back to his dream of earlier that morning. He wasn’t sure how he was going to face Doctor Cooper. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

  Despite his body telling him differently.