DI Sally Parker Thrillers Box Set, page 22
part #1 of DI Sally Parker Series
Simon walked to the back of his van and held out a plastic evidence bag, which contained the woman’s small handbag. He withdrew the contents with his gloved hand and opened the woman’s driving licence. “Gemma Whiting. Looks like she was a short distance from home, as her address is on this road, farther up this way, towards the village.”
Sally motioned for Jack to take down the information, which they would chase up as soon as Simon gave them the low-down on the victim’s demise. “Get on to the station, Jack, see if we can get a head start on things, like if the victim was married, that sort of thing.”
“Will do.” Jack found a quiet area away from the hustle and bustle and rang the station.
Sally returned to the victim and shook her head. “Why? What secrets are you hiding, young lady?”
“Secrets?” Simon asked, looking puzzled. “What makes you think that she has any secrets?”
“Come now, Simon; it’s an easy assumption to make, considering the force of the attack she has sustained, in my experience anyway.”
“Maybe you’re right. It does seem to be a very personal kind of attack and with the added scenario that neither her car nor her bag was removed from the scene.”
“Well, I’ll make sure this case is investigated thoroughly, as I always do. No one’s life should end in such a despicable way at such a young age.”
“Agreed. Here we go. The tent is finally up. Please join me, Inspector.”
Simon had always been a very courteous sort of chap, unlike other pathologists Sally had worked with over the eight years she’d been on the force. Most of them, though not all, were so far up their own backsides that it blocked the sun out on a daily basis. Simon was different; maybe his heritage had a lot to do with the way he dealt with people. Being a Scot and a Jew couldn’t have made life easy for him.
Jack returned from making his call, and he and Sally followed Simon into the tent. Sally was aware that giving Simon a few minutes of observation and thinking time before she bombarded him with questions was wise. Sally folded her arms and studied the victim. Her heartstrings stretched to the max. The woman, who could have been no more than thirty years old, was slim with wavy chestnut-coloured hair that framed a bloody, contorted face. Sally imagined that the victim had been prettier than the average woman on the street. She appeared to be well-dressed, and her outfit was not at all provocative, so Sally doubted the woman’s clothes had contributed to the attack, unlike other recent investigations.
“Okay, let’s see what we have. Karen, take some shots before I turn the victim over, will you?” Simon instructed one of his colleagues.
A young Scenes of Crime Officer angled a camera at the body from her position close to the victim’s feet and fired off several shots before moving to the woman’s head and taking another ten shots or so. Then she nodded at Simon and retreated to continue with her task of collecting evidence of the area a few feet away from the body.
Simon gently pushed the body onto its side and studied the open wound to the rear of the head. “Ouch! I’m surmising this was the fatal blow. To me, the attack was borderline extreme. Her attacker could possibly have been outraged about something.”
“It seems impossible to even consider that such brutality would come about from a mere car accident, right?”
“My sentiments exactly. Her face took the brunt of a few blows, too, as if someone was trying to obliterate the woman’s beauty.”
Sally twisted her head this way and that, observing the injuries, trying to figure out if the victim had tried to ward off the attack. “What about defence wounds, Simon?”
The pathologist rocked the corpse back onto the ground then examined each of the victim’s arms. “Nope, nothing.”
“So, I’m thinking that she was maybe struck from behind with the first blow and then set upon in a violent and frenzied attack. Am I right?”
Jack coughed slightly. “Is that plausible?”
Sally shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to ascertain. What are you thinking, Jack?”
“Just that it wouldn’t make sense. Look at her position to the car. If her vehicle was shunted from behind and she got out of the car to have a go at the other driver, she wouldn’t walk backwards towards the person, would she?”
“Good point. So?”
Jack leaned over to observe the corpse and pointed at the victim’s jaw. “What if the first blow was to her jaw? Someone took a swing at her with a heavy object and knocked her off balance then carried on with the attack.”
Sally’s eyes narrowed as she ran through the scenario in her mind. “If the incident took place around midnight, it would’ve been pitch-black, right? What if the attacker placed their headlights on full beam, momentarily blinding the victim? She probably didn’t even see the weapon before it struck her. That’s my best guess anyway.”
Simon and Jack both nodded. Simon inspected the jaw closely; it moved freely in his hand. “Broken. I suspect your assumption may be right after all, Inspector.”
“Anything else you’d care to share with us before we get off, Simon?”
“Not that I can think of. All the wounds are either head or face related. Wait a minute—there’s a faint bruise appearing on her chest, around the heart area.”
“Okay. Jack and I are going to shoot off. We’ll question the witness and send him on his way then report the death to the victim’s family, if that’s all right with you?”
“Why wouldn’t it be, Inspector? Go. I’ll continue with the preliminary exam here and then move the victim to the lab for a PM. Do you want to sit in on that one?”
“Would you mind if I didn’t? I’d like to question the family members ASAP.”
“No problem with me; you know that. Good luck with your investigation. I’ll get my report to you as soon as I can.”
Sally and Jack left the tent and headed towards the witness.
The man, still looking shell-shocked, got out of his vehicle when he saw Sally and Jack approaching him.
Sally flashed her warrant card. “DI Sally Parker, and this is my partner, DS Jack Blackman. You are?”
He held out his hand for Sally to shake. “Michael Meldrew. This is such an appalling thing to stumble upon.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Meldrew. I promise not to keep you long. Can you tell us what happened?”
He shook his head. “I set off to work as normal, decided to take the scenic route this morning, never dreaming that I would encounter this. That poor woman.”
“Did you see any other vehicles in the area?”
“No, nothing. I never usually do at this time of the morning, to be honest, Inspector.”
“Do you recognise the victim? Sorry, her car?” Sally asked, pointing at the victim’s vehicle.
“I’ve seen it around, yes. I couldn’t tell you who it belonged to, though. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Well, I don’t want to hold you up any longer than necessary. Thank you for having the patience to stick around and wait for us. Would it be possible for you to give us an official statement now? Is that convenient for you?”
“Of course. Any help I can give, I will.”
“Jack, get the constable to take down the statement, will you?”
Her partner set off to collect the constable. While the constable began taking down the statement, Sally and Jack walked back to the car.
“Poor bloke. Not the most pleasant of things to find en route to work. Looks like we’ll have to take the long way round to call in on the family home,” Jack observed needlessly as they hopped back in the car.
“It’ll add a few miles on the journey, Jack. No great hardship really. Stop being a grouchy grandpa.” She chuckled when she saw her partner wince out of the corner of her eye.
“You can go off some people, you know.”
CHAPTER TWO
On the trip to the victim’s house, Sally instructed Jack to chase up the information about the victim she had requested from Joanna.
Jack reeled off the details as Sally pulled into the drive and parked the car. “Gemma, married to Mark Whiting. He’s a butcher.”
Sally shot round to face her partner. “Is he now?”
Jack tutted. “That doesn’t mean a thing, boss.”
“I know. Just winding you up, Jack. Right, let’s get this over with.”
After Jack rang the bell, they waited a few seconds. Sally flashed her ID at the blond man who answered the door. “Mr. Whiting? I’m DI Sally Parker, and this is my partner, DS Jack Blackman.”
“Thank God! Have you found her?”
“Your wife?”
“Of course. I reported her missing last night.”
“I think we’d better come in, Mr. Whiting.”
He pushed the door back against the wall and allowed them access. Sally and Jack followed the distraught man through the house into a kitchen, where a cute little girl wearing a pink pinafore dress and matching pink shoes was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. “This little cherub is my daughter, Samantha.”
“Sorry, Mr. Whiting, is there any chance we can have this conversation alone? My partner can watch over your daughter.”
His agitation showed in the form of a grunt, and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling. However, he relented after a few seconds. “In here.” He bent down beside his daughter and held her hand. “Daddy won’t be long, sweetheart. The nice policeman will sit with you until I return. All right, pumpkin?”
“Can I talk to him? Mummy always tells me it’s not good to talk to strangers, Daddy.” The girl’s long blonde eyelashes fluttered rapidly as she eagerly awaited her father’s reply.
“If the nice policeman wants to talk to you, then yes. In this instance, I’m sure Mummy would allow you to talk to him.”
“Oh, goody.” Samantha pulled out the chair next to her and patted the cushioned seat with her tiny hand. “Here, sit beside me, Mister. What’s your name?”
Jack looked bewildered at the thought of spending time with the chatterbox child, but he succumbed and sat next to the child while Sally left the room with her dad.
Mr. Whiting invited her to take a seat on the sofa as he closed the door to the modern living room, which was spotlessly clean and tidy, considering there was a little one in the house.
“Samantha is a real sweetie. How old is she?”
“She’s five. She has her moments, but yes, most of the time she’s an adorable little angel. She takes after her mother. What news do you have for me on Gemma, Inspector?”
The man was still standing, his elbow resting on the mantelpiece above the open fire. “Perhaps it would be better if you sat down.”
He hesitated for a moment or two then dropped into the leather easy chair on his right, his forearms resting on his thighs and his hands clenched together. “Is she in hospital? Has she been injured in a car crash?”
She found it odd that he would suggest his wife had been in a car crash, then chastised herself for thinking along those lines. Wouldn’t the majority of folks think the same? She chewed on the inside of her mouth then delivered the news that she feared would rock this man’s world for years to come. “I’m sorry, Mr. Whiting. It is regrettable that I have to inform you that Gemma is dead.”
His eyes widened, and his mouth hung open. Eventually, he found his voice. “What do you mean she’s dead?”
“Again, this is difficult for me to say, but it looks as though your wife was murdered last night.”
He jumped to his feet and started to pace the floor. “What? Murdered? Who would do such a thing?” His shaking hand swept over his face and covered his eyes as the tears began to fall. His shoulders shuddered. “My God, who would do such a thing? To Gemma, of all people? She was gentle, compassionate, a beautiful person, and wonderful mother. Jesus, how am I going to tell Samantha that she’ll never lay eyes on her mother ever again?”
“Is there someone who can help you with that? What about your parents? Or Gemma’s, come to that. I’ll need to inform them of Gemma’s death.”
“They’re divorced. She doesn’t really see her dad much after he ran off to live with that tart.”
The venomous words surprised Sally. “If you give me your mother’s phone number, perhaps I could call her for you, ask her to come over and sit with you.”
“No, I’ll do it. Mum would never forgive me if she heard this news from a stranger.”
“I understand. Can you make the call now? Are you up to that?”
He sucked in a large breath and released it slowly through his quivering lips. Then he walked across the room to the side table in the corner and picked up the phone. “Mum, it’s me. Something dreadful has happened. Can you come over? No, I can’t tell you more than that over the phone. Okay… see you soon.”
He hung up and returned to the easy chair. “Mum will be devastated when I tell her. She loved Gemma like a daughter, the daughter she never had. The whole family loved Gemma, in fact.”
“What about you? Did you love her, Mark?”
He looked Sally in the eye and shook his head. “How could you even ask such a thing? I’ve always loved my wife.”
“Good, glad to hear it. I had to ask; I’m sorry. We hear about so many cases where husbands and wives have fallen out of love with each other and instead of agreeing to an amicable divorce, one of the spouses does something stupid like ending the other’s life.”
“Really? What a bloody sad world we live in.”
“Indeed. Are you up to answering some questions?”
“Go on. Not sure I’m compos mentis enough to answer them fully, so you’ll have to forgive me.”
“I will. Let’s see how we go. Right, I take it your wife went out last night. Can you tell me where?”
“Out with a few of her friends. I don’t keep my wife on a chain, tied to the house, Inspector.”
His comment caused her to frown. What a strange thing to say! She smiled, not letting on that she thought his comment was somewhat out of place.
“Maybe you can let me know the names and addresses of those friends? We’ll need to chat to them ASAP, to see how the evening panned out.”
He went over to the table in the corner again and withdrew an address book. Sally took her notebook and pen from her jacket pocket. “Fire away.”
He reeled off four names accompanied by addresses: Audrey Jones, Tara Metcalfe, Nadine Thornley, and Milly Choudary.
“That’s excellent.”
Just then, the front door slammed, and a dishevelled woman in her early sixties burst into the room. Mark went to the woman and flung his arms around her. She cuddled him back with a puzzled expression covering her makeup-free face. “Whatever is the matter, child?”
With his face buried in her neck, Mark said, “She’s dead, Mum. Gemma is dead.”
The woman shot Sally a glance then pushed her son upright. “You’re not making sense, son. What do you mean, Gemma is dead?”
Sally stood, tucked her notebook into her pocket, and introduced herself to the woman. “I’m DI Sally Parker from the Norfolk Constabulary. We were called out to a scene not far from here, where your daughter-in-law was found, murdered.”
The woman’s legs wobbled beneath her, and Mark, momentarily forgetting about his own grief, supported his mother and placed her on the couch.
“Murdered? How? Why?” the woman stammered.
“That, I can’t tell you at this moment in time. We think her car was struck from behind and forced into a hedge. Looks like she might have confronted the driver of the vehicle, who possibly attacked her for speaking out, perhaps we’re looking at a severe case of road rage. That’s my initial assessment anyway.”
“Oh my. I’m not sure what to say. Where did it happen?”
“Just up the lane. I take it you got diverted at the top of the road. Sorry, I missed your name,” Sally said.
“It’s Yvette Whiting. Yes, I was diverted at the top. I had no idea why.”
“Why don’t we all take a seat? I know it’s a difficult time for you both, but I have a few questions I need to ask. The sooner I get the answers, the quicker our investigation can begin. Are you up to answering those questions today?”
Mother and son sat on the couch together, hands clasped around each other’s. Mrs. Whiting acted as the spokesperson. “If that’s the way it has to be, Inspector, then I suppose we better get on with it. Of course we want the person who did this found as soon as possible. My God, poor, poor Gemma.”
Sally dropped into the easy chair, and with her notebook at the ready once again, she asked, “What time did your wife leave the house, Mark?”
He inhaled a large breath and scratched his temple. “I think it was around seven thirty. Yes, it was. She popped her head in Samantha’s room while I was reading her a bedtime story.”
“Excellent. And you say she was meeting up with the friends you mentioned. Can you tell me where?”
“The Red Lion at Cringleford. I think they were scheduled to meet up around eightish,” Mark replied.
“That’s great. Obviously, you won’t be able to tell me what happened during the evening. I’m hoping her friends will be able to fill in the blanks there. Can you tell me if your wife has spoken about any problems lately? Such as, if she felt someone was following her, that sort of thing?”
The pair exchanged puzzled glances, then Mark shook his head. “No, can’t say I remember her mentioning anything along those lines. What about you, Mum?”
Yvette’s mouth turned down at the sides as she thought, her gaze searing a spot in the rug in front of the fireplace. After a few seconds’ delay, she looked Sally in the eye and said, “No. I can’t say I remember her discussing such a thing with me. Is that what you think, Inspector? That Gemma was stalked by a crazed man who ended her life in a country lane?”
Sally wanted to chuckle at the expression crazed man. However, she kept her face serious when she responded. “It’s definitely an avenue we’ll be pursuing. Did your wife work, outside the home I mean, Mr. Whiting?” she asked with a sensitive smile.
“No. She wanted to be at home with Samantha for as long as possible.”
