‘Obviously,’ Ridley murmured.
‘If there are no kids, then we’d need DNA from an object such as a hairbrush, or an old hat maybe.’
‘See how much their house was bought for,’ Ridley instructed.
The house was in the middle of a long, tree-lined street in Weybridge. Ridley guessed that the purchase price would have been around the £2 million mark and wondered how the hell an ex-copper could have afforded it — unless Susan Withey had been seriously rich before she married Mike. They knew Audrey Withey lived in a tower block in central London because Anik’s mate from Paddington Green had told them as much; they knew she was a retired fruit and veg stallholder, from the numerous police interviews she’d given over the years. The main one being when her daughter was murdered. So, it was highly unlikely that the money for this property had come from her.
Anik showed the screen of his mobile to Ridley.
‘One point five mill, sir. It’s got a double garage, games room and covered swimming pool.’
Ridley closed his eyes in momentary, silent despair. Not only was Anik seemingly under the baffling impression that Ridley wanted to buy the house — but Mike Withey paying for a mansion with the proceeds of a train robbery suddenly looked like a possible scenario.
‘What will you tell her about the body?’ Ridley asked.
‘I won’t mention the circumstances or condition of the body, sir. It’s currently just an unidentified male whose physical description is similar to that of her ex-husband.’
Ridley got out of the car and headed towards Susan’s house. Once he heard Anik’s short steps scurrying after him, he locked his BMW.
Susan was an austerely beautiful woman — calm and almost serene in manner. Ridley thought she seemed like a person who’d seen bad times, but kept her emotions well concealed. Her jogging bottoms sat loosely on her hips and were rolled up once at the waistband; they looked more like Mike’s than hers. She wore a tight white vest top over her athletic figure. She wore nothing on her feet and her tiny toenails were painted bright red. Ridley thought she must be in her early fifties, but she looked ten years younger than that. Being single and Mike-free seemed to suit her.
The lounge was minimalist in its décor, with off-white walls, a dark brown wooden floor and white blinds at the windows. No frills, no fuss. Colour was introduced by the red embroidered cushions on the white sofa, and the abstract paintings on the walls. Among the paintings were framed pieces of artwork done by a young child or children. It was as though Susan had very kindly surrounded her children’s artwork with that of adults who had little additional skill, so that all the paintings looked to be on a par with one another.
Anik carefully and delicately explained that they’d found an unidentified body that could possibly be that of her husband. He was tactful, respectful and, although long-winded, he was doing well, Ridley thought.
Susan’s imagination, understandably, ran riot.
‘How did he die?’ she asked, putting her hand to her mouth.
‘I’m afraid I can’t divulge that at this stage, Mrs Withey.’
Just as Anik started to relax, his eyes fell to a newspaper on the table and the front-page story headlined ARSON AND MURDER IN FORMER POLICE OFFICER’S HOME. His expression immediately gave him away. There was no doubt, if Anik ever played poker, he’d lose his shirt.
‘No...’ she breathed quietly.
She picked up the paper, dropped to the sofa and quickly scanned the article.
Anik looked at Ridley for guidance. Ridley turned away and let him get on with it. He had to learn.
Eventually, Susan spoke. ‘Is this the case you’re investigating?’
Anik had no choice. ‘Yes.’
‘Did he...? Did the fire...? Was he alive when...?’
They both knew what she wanted to ask. Ridley took over.
‘It’s possible, based on physical description, that the body found in Rose Cottage could be your husband. And we are treating the death as murder.’
Susan couldn’t get her head round why Mike might have been in Rose Cottage in the first place. She couldn’t think that he had any connection to the place, and this led her to hope that the poor, unfortunate dead man wasn’t her husband at all. Ridley understood that denial is about self-preservation at times of emotional distress, so he didn’t try and dissuade her. From here on, Susan’s demeanour became practical as she spoke about Mike as though he was very much alive, and just missing.
‘Mike hasn’t lived here for almost a year, and he does go AWOL quite often, but he’s always in touch with me or the kids every couple of days, even if it’s just a text message. That stopped about a week ago, which is why I called you in the first place. I’ll write down the addresses of his flat and his office for you. They’ll no doubt be in a terrible state, so apologies for that. The office is in a sort of compound shared with other units. There’s a warden who can let you in. It was one of the first places I went actually, when Mike stopped texting. The warden hasn’t seen him since last Wednesday. I’ve got a spare key to Mike’s flat if you want to go there as well. Please be careful. I mean... I don’t want him to think he’s been burgled.’
Whether or not Susan actually still loved Mike wasn’t clear but, as she bowed her head and turned her back, it was obvious that the possibility of him being dead was very upsetting.
‘Take anything you need,’ Susan muttered.
And then she jogged up the stairs to fetch Mike’s flat keys.
The lounge fell silent. Ridley saw Anik open his mouth at least two or three times to speak, and then think better of it. He was clearly the kind of person who was very uncomfortable with silence; Ridley wanted to train this out of him because police work was more about listening and looking than it was about talking.
‘What do you think of the house?’ Ridley asked.
‘Smart, yeah.’ Ridley turned to Anik, who instantly knew that his answer had missed the point. Then the penny dropped. ‘Mike Withey was a DC. I couldn’t afford this house in a month of Sundays, so how could he?’
Ridley’s slight smile told him that was the right answer.
Susan came back into the lounge carrying a single front door key and two scraps of paper. One was the address of Mike’s flat and the other was a scrappy-looking business card with the unimaginative name ‘Withey Security’.
‘This is Mike’s current mobile number?’
Susan nodded.
Ridley moved and stood in front of a wall of family photos, showing Mike and Susan with two girls at varying ages, from babies to young women.
‘Mrs Withey, in the interest of obtaining a comparative DNA sample for the purpose of identification, the best way would be to get a sample from a child. Would that be possible?’
‘The girls don’t live here any more. They’re grown. I... How would I explain what you’re doing? How would I explain why you need it? No, I don’t think that’s... What else can we do?’
‘We could use an item, such as a toothbrush...’
‘Claire’s got clothes and toiletries here for when she visits.’
Susan left the room slowly, giving herself time to comprehend the magnitude of going to collect an item that would tell the police whether her husband was dead or alive. When she got back, Anik was waiting, evidence bag at the ready, gloves on. Susan dropped the sparkly pink toothbrush into the bag.
‘Thanks, Mrs Withey.’
Ridley nodded to Anik, meaning it was back to him to question her about the house.
‘You have a lovely home,’ he started... and the information he needed flowed easily from Susan. She wasn’t thinking about Mike any more; she was thinking about her girls and this made her talk without caution.
‘Thank you. Audrey sold a villa in Spain some years ago and gave the cash to Mike. I said if he gambled it away, I’d leave him. So, he bought this.’ Susan shook her head as she remembered how unreliable Mike actually was. ‘From one extreme to the other. He had no idea what actually mattered to me and the kids. He thought this lovely house would solve all of our problems, but that’s all it turned out be in the end — a lovely house. It wasn’t ever a family home, regardless of the pictures on the wall. Nothing more than a façade.’