He confirmed that he was Paddy Morgan and that he had indeed discovered Marlena’s body.
‘To tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ll ever get over it,’ said Paddy.
‘I know, I know,’ said Vogel. And he did know, more than Paddy Morgan could have guessed.
‘Now they tell me I’ve been arrested. Why? I never hurt anybody, I’ve not done anything.’
Vogel made soothing noises. ‘We have to eliminate you from our inquiries, Mr Morgan,’ he said. ‘I am sure it will prove to be just a formality. You’re covered in the dead woman’s blood and—’
The caretaker gasped. His eyes filled with tears. His head lolled forward onto his chest. Vogel could have kicked himself. He needed the man lucid.
‘What I mean is, you are carrying evidence on your clothes and hands,’ explained Vogel. ‘We need to have you checked out. As soon as that’s done, we’ll get you taken care of. A doctor will take a look at you to make sure you’re OK. You’ve had the most terrible shock.’
Paddy agreed weakly that he had.
Vogel uttered a few more reassuring platitudes, then tried to elicit some information that might help with his inquiries.
‘What’s the security like here?’ he asked.
Morgan looked up, startled, as if he feared he might be held responsible for the killer gaining access.
Vogel tried to reassure him. ‘What I really want to know is how difficult would it be for an intruder to get into one of these flats?’
‘Well, it shouldn’t be easy,’ said Morgan. ‘I’m not always here — it’s only a part-time job — but I’m here every morning, and the front door is permanently locked with a double Balham. The glass is armoured. And there’s an entryphone linked to every flat. There’s been no interference — you’ll have seen that yourself on your way in. Sometimes people, particularly delivery men if they can’t get a response from the flat they have a delivery for, use the intercom to ring others for access to the building. But the residents know better than to let anyone in they don’t know. And even if someone did manage to get into the building, all the flats have front doors with peepholes, security chains, double locks — you name it.’
Vogel nodded. It was much as he’d thought. ‘So the only way to get into one of these flats is to have the householder invite you in, is that it?’
‘I suppose so, yes.’
‘You don’t think it likely then,’ Vogel continued, ‘that an intruder could have broken into Marlena McTavish’s apartment?’
‘Well, no. Like I said, there’s no sign of a break-in. I’m sure I would have noticed.’
Vogel glanced round, looking for cameras.
‘Is there any CCTV here?’ he asked. ‘Outside the front door perhaps?’
The caretaker shook his head. ‘It’s been talked about but a lot of residents didn’t want it. They like their privacy too much.’
Vogel nodded. There were CCTV cameras all over Covent Garden, of course, but none would probably be of much help if it were not possible to identify suspects actually entering Sampford House.
Vogel thanked the man. Then he stuck his head back through the door of the flat.
‘Any idea of time of death yet, Dr Fitzwarren?’ he enquired.
‘I’ve only just got here, Vogel. What do you think I am — a miracle worker?’
‘That’s exactly what I think,’ replied Vogel hopefully.
The pathologist grunted.
‘I just want to know if it’s likely the deceased was murdered more than twenty-four hours ago,’ Vogel persisted. ‘It’s important. We may need to act fast to prevent the killer striking again.’
‘Ummm. Well, Vogel, she’s certainly not been dead for more than a day, judging from her body temperature, but I need to get her back to the lab before I can tell you anything exact, as you very well know.’
‘Thank you all the same,’ said Vogel. ‘And the manner of death?’
Dr Fitzwarren looked at him as if he were a moron.
‘I think she may have been stabbed, don’t you, Vogel?’ she asked.
‘What about the murder weapon?’ enquired Vogel, ignoring the sarcasm heavy in her voice.
‘A long-bladed knife, I should think, in light of what seems to have been done to the poor woman.’
‘And what exactly has been done to her?’ persisted Vogel.
Fitzwarren gestured to the bloodied masses on the floor between Marlena’s legs, the stuff Paddy hadn’t been able to help himself comparing to an offal tray at the butcher’s.
‘The internal organs have been roughly hacked out of the body. Can’t be certain, given the damage, but I suspect we’re talking reproductive organs.’
She pointed at a small lump of dark red tissue, sliced partially open, lying by Marlena’s left knee.
‘That looks like her womb to me,’ she said.
Vogel felt his knees buckle.
Again he fought for control. There was another question he needed to ask, even though he could hardly bear to hear the answer.
He gestured at the blood all around the room.
‘Am I to assume from all this that the organs were removed while the victim was still alive?’
Dr Fitzwarren paused in her examination and looked up at Vogel.
‘Oh yes, Sergeant Vogel. When it started anyway. This woman was alive when the knife cut into her. She bled to death. Not much doubt about that.’
Vogel could take no more. He headed for the door. Outside, the caretaker was now standing more or less upright, handcuffed to a still-green PC Porter.
‘You should get this man back to the station. Have him processed, then arrange for him to see a doctor,’ said Vogel.
‘I’m just waiting for MIT, Sarge,’ said Porter. ‘DI Forest said I had to stay here till they arrived. I can’t wait to get out of this place, I can tell you. If I—’
‘Yes, that’s enough, Constable. You have a man in custody, right?’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
Vogel glanced towards Paddy. He didn’t think there was the slightest chance that the Irishman was guilty of anything more than muddying a crime scene. At least he looked a little calmer now. He might even be up to thinking more clearly.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing else you can tell me, Paddy?’ he asked.
The caretaker shook his head.
A thought occurred to Vogel, a question he should probably have asked earlier.
‘When did you last see Marlena alive?’
‘Oh, that would be yesterday morning,’ Paddy replied at once. ‘I came round with her paper as usual, just gone eleven. She answered the door and we had a little chat like we always do.’
‘And there was no sign of anything wrong?’
‘Oh no, there was nothing amiss, then, I’m sure. She invited me in. I had a quick cup of tea.’
‘So what time did you leave her?’
‘I suppose it must have been half past eleven, maybe a bit later.’
Vogel walked slowly along the corridor towards the lift. He had a great deal to think about.
If Marlena had been lying dead in her flat for more than a day, Alfonso Bertorelli could not have been responsible for her death because he had been detained at Charing Cross police station.
But now it seemed, even before a full post-mortem examination had been conducted, that the caretaker could confirm Marlena had been alive at 11.30 a.m., or thereabouts, the previous day. Alfonso Bertorelli had been released from custody at 11.23 a.m. Vogel had signed the release papers and he remembered the time exactly. He always remembered figures exactly.
So, he told himself as he waited for the lift to arrive, he had to accept that Bertorelli would have had opportunity to kill the woman.
There was something else forcing its way to the surface of Vogel’s memory. An unsolved case dating back to his early days in CID. He was still mulling it over when the lift doors opened. Out stepped two young men and an older woman, much taller than either of her companions, who was wearing an expensive-looking tailored black trouser suit. Although none of the three were in uniform it was obvious to Vogel that they were police officers.