The sight, along with the coppery smell of the dead woman’s blood, was making Guy Batchelor queasy, too. In the room with them were two Crime Scene Investigators, similarly clad to themselves, and the CSI photographer, busy recording everything on video.
Batchelor looked at his watch. It was just coming up to midnight. He yawned. ‘You’re not married, are you, Jon? Girlfriend, right?’
‘Dawn.’
‘Lovely lady — you brought her to the CID dinner last year — she’s an Aussie?’
‘Yep!’
‘Could you imagine chopping her up into bits like this?’
Exton shook his head.
‘Me neither — Lena. I mean, like — bloody hell, you’ve got to be more than a bit pissed off with your wife to do this.’
‘That’s probably the understatement of the year, Guy.’
Batchelor remembered meeting Darling’s wife on Saturday. A total bitch. But no one deserved this. ‘OK, the mortuary team will be here shortly, so there’s not much else we can do. Some shut-eye?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Exton looked down at the severed head again, as if drawn to it by a magnet. The woman’s eyes stared right back at him, sending shivers through him. It was as if she was saying, ‘Do something!’
Involuntarily, and almost imperceptibly, he nodded at her. We will, he mouthed silently.
70
Tuesday 26 April
At 8.30 a.m. the following morning, Guy Batchelor read from his prepared notes to the assembled team in the packed conference room. There were two new whiteboards alongside the four that had been up for some days, displaying crime-scene photographs of Lorna Belling’s death and postmortem, her association chart, and photographs of the suspects — her husband, Corin, Seymour Darling and Kipp Brown. On one of the new ones were grisly photographs of Trish Darling’s dismembered body, and on another a fresh association chart for Seymour Darling, along with his face-on and three-quarter-angle profile photographs taken when he was booked into custody last night.
‘This is the eighth briefing on Operation Bantam,’ the Detective Inspector said. ‘Overnight we’ve had a significant development.’ He told the assembled group about the circumstances in which Seymour Darling was found in the bedroom, holding an axe, surrounded by the dismembered remains of his wife, and was arrested at the scene, without a struggle. ‘An interview coordinator is currently preparing the interview strategy.’
‘I suppose it won’t be a piecemeal interview?’ Norman Potting said.
‘Careful, Norman, you could get poleaxed for a joke that bad,’ Glenn Branson said.
‘Or you could be for the chop!’ DI Dull said, the Direct Entry DI surprising everyone by displaying that he actually had a sense of humour.
Grace smiled. ‘OK, we’ve opened the Christmas crackers and read out all the jokes, shall we now be serious, team?’
Suddenly he heard a rustling, rattling sound that brought back sad memories of Bella Moy eternally rummaging in her box of Maltesers. He glanced round and saw that Velvet Wilde was passing round a large yellow pack of M&M peanut chocolates. Several of the team — some of whom probably hadn’t yet had any breakfast — took them gratefully.
He felt a moment of concern as she offered the pack to Norman Potting. The young DC had no way of knowing just how much pain her kind gesture might be causing him.
Potting waved them away, politely.
Then she rolled a few out onto the work surface in front of her, a red, a brown and two green ones, and popped one into her mouth.
He watched Potting carefully. The old detective looked like he was struggling to keep his composure. Grace wondered whether he should have a word with Velvet after the meeting. Then suddenly, to his surprise, Potting leaned across, grabbed the bag, shook several out into the palm of his hand, and gave the bag back to Velvet with a murmured thanks. He popped a green one in his mouth, looking happier. Grace saw him shoot a sly glance at the DC.
Privately, Grace smiled, shaking his head. Did the old stoat have his beady eye on her? He was happy at the thought that Norman was dealing with his loss of Bella, but if he was thinking of making a play for Velvet, he was going to be in for something of a disappointment.
Batchelor went on, reading from his notes. ‘What we know about Seymour Darling so far is that he has a criminal history of progressive escalation of violence. He has three previous convictions, the first in 1997 for shoplifting, for which he got a fine and community service order. In 2003 he got two years suspended for demanding money with menaces. Then, significantly, in 2005 he got four years for GBH, when he permanently blinded a woman in one eye in an assault in a pub. He’s a regular Mr Nice Guy.’
‘He should have chosen a career in politics!’ Potting said, popping another M&M in his mouth, and shooting another glance at Velvet to see if she responded, but she was looking up at the whiteboards, studying them.
Ignoring the remark, Batchelor continued. ‘DS Exton is currently at the postmortem, which is being carried out by Dr Theobald. I’ll be heading over there after this briefing. But I have a feeling establishing the cause of death is not going to be an issue in this case.’ He glanced down at his notes. ‘OK, media strategy. As we are not looking for anyone else in connection with the murder of Mrs Trish Darling, and therefore don’t need the assistance of the local media, I’m intending to hold a short press conference later this morning, but with the gruesome bits edited out — I don’t want the Argus going sensational on us and scaring everyone in the city. I’m proposing to give the bare facts, that a woman was found dead in her home in Hangleton, last night. Her husband is in custody, and he is also under investigation by the police in connection with the murder of another woman, Mrs Lorna Belling, last week. Does anyone have any issues with that?’
DI Donald Dull raised his hand. ‘Actually, Guy, I do.’
‘Go ahead.’ Batchelor raised his arms expansively, his polite smile masking his fury at the hubris of this totally inexperienced parvenu.
‘Aren’t you making a potentially dangerous assumption here? I believe Detective Superintendent Grace has a very apt expression for assumptions: Assumptions make an Ass out of U and Me?’
Glowering at him, Batchelor said, ‘And your point is exactly?’
‘My point is, Temporary Detective Inspector,’ Dull said, pointedly accentuating the ‘Temporary’, ‘Seymour Darling may have murdered his wife in a fit of rage. Why does that make him a prime suspect in the murder of Lorna Belling? The circumstances are very different.’
Batchelor said nothing for some moments; he was thinking hard how to respond without pissing the man off. ‘Not prime suspect, Donald, but of course he does remain a suspect.’
Grace looked at the new DI. He was well aware that part of the reasoning behind bringing in Direct Entry officers was precisely what Dull was doing now — bringing fresh thinking. It was easy for policemen with years of experience to become too cynical and just too suspicious to look beyond the basic facts in front of them. Dull had made a good point. Having met Trish Darling himself, he could see what a bitter person she was. They needed to reserve judgement on whether Darling should continue to be linked to Lorna Belling’s murder — if it was murder — until after he had been interviewed further.
‘I’ve got a point as well, Guy, about your press conference,’ Grace said. ‘You need to deal carefully with any potential issue over the fact that Darling was on bail at the time he killed his wife. I suggest we speak after this briefing and involve Media HQ.’