Enigma

  * * *

  ‘Hey,’ Love said. ‘This Nicéphore test is something else.’

  ‘Amazing,’ Stuart said.

  ‘It is remarkable,’ John said. ‘As you can see here,’ he pointed to the close-up of Carol’s stomach to where the mutilations had been made. ‘Right, here, here and here, you can see quite clearly the faintest of scars.’ He stepped back and ran his hand through his monochrome beard. ‘That’s the difference. That’s what I couldn’t put my finger on,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Love said peering at the photos.

  Large shots. Leaving nothing to the imagination. It was like Carol was there in front of him. As a living, breathing body. He could see everything yet so much more than the naked eye. He thought back to when he and Stuart had checked the post-mortem photographs in screening. He’d picked it up there. But this, this brought it to life.

  This confirmed their suspicions.

  ‘So, are we talking about a set of cuts made by two different persons?’ Love said.

  John nodded. ‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘This test proves the cuts were made by two different hands.’

  ‘And two different tools,’ Stuart said, and leant forward to look closely at the faint scars almost hidden by the more aggressive cuts on top.

  ‘No doubt about it,’ John said.

  Love stepped back and breathed heavily. ‘So,’ he said. ‘It still leaves us with an open question.’

  ‘Which is?’ John asked.

  ‘Was Carol having an affair and if so, with whom?’

  ‘That’s two,’ John said, and smiled.

  Love and Stuart had left John’s office and were walking side by side along the corridor in the basement.

  The corridors were all alike and decorated in the same style as the other floors with their coconut matting in dark beige and white walls, except for one thing. The basement, and all the floors below accessible only to the highest MI6 operatives, had no large green tinted windows. No terrific views over London.

  Suddenly, Love stopped. ‘How are we doing with interviewing the students in Carol’s English class?’

  A woman brushed past. ‘Sorry,’ she said, and smiled. Her smile said she was anything but sorry. Her gaze lingered on Love just that little too longer than necessary. Her grey woollen pencil skirt screamed Burberry. Black patent high-heeled court shoes. Stuart peered closer, Clarks? Her cashmere top, Stuart was still deciding when Love spoke.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Investigations are showing that Carol didn’t socialise with any of the other students or if she did they’re not talking and if not then we have to ask - why not!’ he said, then added, ‘interested?’ He watched the woman until she disappeared into an office down the hall. ‘Not bad, early forties, long, blonde wavy hair, well dressed although…,’ he paused and looked back at Love. ‘I know her and she’s not your type.’

  ‘Do you see her outside office hours?’ Love asked.

  ‘No, certainly not.’

  ‘Is there anyone you do see outside office hours,’ Love said. He smiled. ‘Other than me.’

  Stuart tilted his head to one side. ‘Okay, Love, I’ll go along with this.’ He glanced at the floor and pursed his lips. ‘Actually there are only a couple of operatives I see occasionally on a social basis. What are you getting at?’ He looked at Love.

  ‘People just don’t socialise anymore.’ He continued to walk with Stuart stepping along beside him. They passed a colourful print on the wall. Framed. Signed by an artist no one knew but recognised his work. ‘Monica didn’t meet up with her co-workers in fact she didn’t have any real friends outside of work hours.’

  ‘And she and Ashley weren’t particularly close.’

  ‘Don’t people meet up for a friendly beer after work anymore?’

  Stuart laughed. ‘Love! You’re a great one to talk. I mean, that is rich coming from you.’

  ‘Point taken,’ Love said, and grinned. As they approached the lift they stepped inside and the doors closed. ‘Except, Monica knew someone possibly well enough to see him out of work hours. She wasn’t scared. No one heard, or remembers hearing any screams, apart from Timmy’s, and that was after the event.’

  The lift hummed as it transported them upstairs. It stopped at level three and a man in jeans and leather jacket stepped inside. A moment later it stopped at level seven, a gentle ping followed by the doors swiftly opening. Love and Stuart stepped from the chrome and mirrored lift with its three-inch thick dark brown carpet and walked along the corridor until they arrived at their office.

  ‘And Carol definitely knew two persons,’ Stuart said as he punched the numbers on the keypad by their office door. He pushed the door open, the wooden blinds swung out into the room settling back against the smoked-glass window a moment later. He moved over to his desk. Put his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘One of those was on an intimate basis as we now know.’

  Love ambled over to the window. His favourite spot. He looked out. A black BMW 7 Series cruised by on the bridge below although it could have been a 5 Series. It was followed by a Mercedes, he wasn’t sure which one. They all looked alike these days. Nothing to distinguish the various types of models.

  And that’s another thing, he thought, too many models. Why do we need so many different models in one range? Even up to the nineties it was possible to distinguish between a 3 or 5 or 7 Series unlike today when you have literally to go up to the car and read it on the actual vehicle but only if they’ve bothered to put it there in the first place.

  ‘Love?’ Stuart spoke quietly. His hair fell in front of his eye. Handsome. Sexy. Stuart, one half of an excellent pair of detectives. Dedicated. Hard-working. Enthusiastic. All the qualities Love exemplified. They were so alike except for two things. Stuart was happily married and he wasn’t afraid to embrace his emotions. ‘Love?’

  Love turned round and looked at Stuart. ‘Someone had to be doing it if Butterfield’s telling the truth.’ He turned back to look out the window. He lifted his hand and placed the palm against the cold glass. His blue eyes narrowed as he looked into the distance. Trees. London architecture. Elizabethan and older. Georgian and Victorian sitting by 21st century. History. London was so much about the past. It lived, breathed its heritage. Filth and beauty combined.

  ‘Don’t say it, Love, it’s not true. Don’t say it!’

  ‘I feel like we’re going round in circles.’

  Stuart pointed at Love as he walked over to join him at the window. ‘What are you talking about? It looks like Monica was at the hospital after all, it’s our first break! It could be the link we were waiting for.’ He stood by the side of Love, breathing heavily. He placed both hands on his hips as if to make his point.

  Love smiled. ‘Then what?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Think of all the people she could have met at the hospital, Stuart.’ Love turned from the window and strode over to his desk. He pulled out his chair, sat down. Ran his hand through his hair and loosened his tie. ‘It could be any number of persons it could be anyone from a doctor to a visitor.’

  Stuart stood in front of the window, he stared down at Love. ‘I seem to recall we already had this conversation, partner.’

  ‘My point exactly,’ Love almost spat out with disgust. This case was tying him up in knots.

  ‘Yes, except this time we have a lead. Let’s just concentrate on finding out if and how often Monica visited Sheila Marcus at the hospital and…’ he paused before adding in a quiet tone, ‘well, let’s just see what Sheila has to say and go from there. Okay?’

  Love leant back and stretched one leg. He slid his hand into his front trouser pocket and retrieved a piece of paper. He glanced down at the information given to him from his earlier telephone call with Ben Taylor.

  ‘Okay, mate, let’s see what Sheila Marcus has to say.’

  ‘Ms Marcus? My name is Detective Dick Love, I’m working on the Monica Dixon case and I wonder if I ca
n ask you a couple of questions.’

  ‘Certainly, Detective Love, ask away.’

  Love shifted the receiver to his other ear. ‘I understand you knew the deceased, can you confirm that?’

  ‘I liked her a lot,’ Sheila said. ‘We got along well together but we didn’t socialise.’

  ‘Any reason for that?’

  ‘I’m the wife of the boss for one thing and secondly I’m kept pretty busy with my interior design business.’

  ‘I understand you were recently a patient at St Katherine’s?’

  ‘Oh! Don’t remind me,’ she said. ‘I hate hospitals!’

  ‘You and a million others,’ Love said, and smiled. ‘Ms Marcus, did Monica visit you in the hospital?’

  ‘Yes, about three times during the five days I was stuck there, bless her,’ she said. ‘All thanks to a broken ankle which had turned septic hence my longer stay.’

  ‘Did she come with anyone?’

  ‘Only Timmy.’

  ‘Did you see her talk to anyone whilst visiting you there?’

  ‘No, I don’t remember her talking to a soul. She’d come during the evening stay for about half an hour to forty-five minutes then leave.’

  ‘She didn’t even talk to any staff?’

  ‘You mean like doctors and nurses?’

  ‘Anyone,’ Love said. ‘Please think hard, Ms Marcus, it’s very important.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Detective Love, not that I can recall.’

  ‘What about Timmy did he talk to anyone?’

  ‘No, he’d sit quietly in the room reading his comic or playing with his little toy aeroplane that Monica had got for him,’ Sheila said. ‘Great little boy, no trouble at all,’ she added. ‘Unlike some of the monsters you see running about screaming the place down.’

  Love smiled. ‘What about the gifts you spoke of in your “thank you” card?’

  ‘Gifts? Oh, those,’ she said, and chuckled softly. ‘She brought me something different each visit.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary but they were extremely appreciated.’

  ‘Such as?’ Love asked again.

  ‘Well, one time she brought me a magazine, a bar of chocolate, and a crossword puzzle book.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Let me think… oh yes, she gave me a small bunch of flowers, two more magazines and a tiny basket of soaps that were shaped like flowers.’

  Love scribbled something down. He looked over at Stuart who was still standing by the window. Listening. Waiting. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘A paperback it was a light-hearted romance, and a pack of cigarettes.’

  ‘Cigarettes?’

  ‘Yes, terrible habit I know but I mentioned how I’d run out and was climbing the walls without them and so on her next visit she bought me some.’

  ‘That was quite generous of her,’ Love said.

  ‘I know! But she was such a sweetie she’d help a total stranger.’

  Love thought of something. It was just an idea. ‘You mentioned that Monica had gotten Timmy a toy airplane.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Do you know if she bought it from the same place she got your gifts from?’

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I mentioned to Monica how pretty the gifts looked all wrapped up in that crinkly cellophane and Monica told me how Timmy had been worried they’d put his toy plane in there by mistake.’ She chuckled softly, and added, ‘Monica said it was a real treasure trove of a place.’

  ‘And that was where, Ms Marcus?’

  ‘The shop in the hospital.’

  ‘So it looks like she did talk to someone at the hospital after all,’ Stuart said. ‘The assistant at the shop for starters.’

  Love said nothing. He was back on track. He’d lost that momentary feeling of floundering about. Going back and forth. Chasing after his own tail. Now, he felt he’d got something to bite into again. And he was going with it. He stood up and grabbed his jacket.

  ‘Time we went back there, Stuart,’ he said. He patted his pockets found they were empty, pulled open a drawer and retrieved a packet of mints. He shoved them into his jacket.

  Stuart had already put on his jacket and was reaching for his cashmere. ‘Fancy a present, Love?’

  Love grinned. ‘Yes, I do, and I know just the place…’ he paused. ‘Stuart, the feet on the tape…’

  ‘I’m with you,’ Stuart said. ‘Let me ring Chris.’ He grabbed his mobile from the top of his desk and punched one key. ‘Chris, it’s Stuart.’ He listened. ‘No, I’m not lazy I’m on my way out,’ he said, and smiled. He left the office behind Love who closed the door and secured it behind them. ‘We’ve found a pair of feet on the security tapes which could be Monica’s but we need to verify a pair of shoes next to her. They could belong to Timmy. I need you to check that… yes, the ones I was researching. I’ve digitalised them so it’s no problem. You can access them directly from my PC on to yours using STSKH along with that little gadget Love says looks like a Yarrah dog biscuit.’ Stuart glanced at Love and grinned.

  Love reached out with his hand, and said, ‘Let me talk to Chris.’

  Stuart handed Love his mobile. ‘Chris, do me a favour and look through those storage boxes of Monica’s.’

  He was referring to the storage boxes the constables had retrieved from her house. A stack of them had been discovered in her small neat office in what used to be a bedroom. Different types. Colours. Some were covered in fabric. Bright swirling patterns. Others were more conservative, simple plain cardboard. A couple were brown faux leather.

  ‘See if you can find any shopping receipts for the week Sheila Marcus was in hospital.’

  ‘I have them in front of me and already going through them, Love,’ she said. ‘But some of the receipts are pretty hard to read you know how the roll gets when it’s running out.’

  ‘Pink, striped and faded,’ Love said. The two men strolled round the corner to the lifts. ‘And see if you can find any similar receipts in Carol Butterfield’s belongings.’

  ‘Carol Butterfield, got it,’ she said. ‘Looking for that connection?’

  ‘It’s hell of a long shot and even if she did shop there it’s unlikely Butterfield will still have the receipts,’ he paused, ‘but go through what you have and then check with Mr Butterfield if you come up with nothing.’

  ‘Monica’s will be quick but Carol’s will take time but whatever I find I’ll send a copy to both of your M-CADDs.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful,’ Love said. He thanked Chris and gave the phone back to Stuart.

  They were standing in front of the lift. Love pressed the button and a moment later it arrived. That reminded him. He needed to make a call of his own. Julie would need taking out again in a couple of hours and Love wasn’t sure if he’d get back in time. Stuart ended his call and two minutes after that they were heading out of the Embankment en route to St Katharine’s.

  ‘Could have taken my car,’ Love said.

  ‘I couldn’t stand another ride in the freezer,’ Stuart said. ‘Besides, it’s my turn.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, mate, must get that fixed.’ Love looked ahead. ‘Is Chris all right going with the shoes?’

  ‘She’s going to strand the tape, enhance it with a pixel…’

  ‘Glad to hear it, mate!’

  Stuart grinned. ‘I think we’ve had a lucky break.’

  They passed a couple of women. Walking along. Wrapped up against the cold. Jeans. Jumpers. Furry boots on their feet. ‘And I reckon you’re right,’ Love said. He eyed the M-CADD. ‘What’s your new code, mate?’

  It was common practise to change the personal identification code on the M-CADD on a weekly basis, for security reasons.

  ‘I don’t have mine on me,’ Love said as they came to a stop at a set of traffic lights.

  Stuart hesitated. ‘It’s 007,’ he said, glancing at Love.

  Love shook his head
and grinned. ‘Really? Oh no, that’s too easy a target.’ He punched in the phone number for Mrs Burton. ‘I’m not even going to go there I’m saying nothing at all,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Mrs Burton, hi, it’s Love here.’