‘So he was drunk.’
‘He was over the legal limit but alcohol affects people’s behaviour in different ways. In Reynolds’ case it would have been seen as a mitigating factor towards suicide: emotional instability, loss of judgement and comprehension, those sorts of things.’
‘But what’s that got to do with the scene?’ Anna demanded.
‘There are photographs of all the rooms and in none of them is there an open bottle of booze or a glass. So where had he been drinking before he got home?’
‘You’re right.’ Anna began to flick back through her notebook, looking for the interview with Marcus Williams. ‘Williams never said Josh had been drinking but then again I never specifically asked him that question,’ she said.
‘Question is, then, where and with whom had he been drinking?’
‘Pete, your observations are bloody brilliant, but they leave me with more unanswered questions and work to do,’ she groaned.
‘Just doing my job.’ Pete smiled. ‘But until I do an in-depth study, my observations are strictly between the two of us.’
‘Of course, but you realize that if the Reynolds case does end up being a murder there will be an internal investigation and possible disciplinary action concerning the original investigation.’
‘I’ve kept records of everything, including my conversations with Freeman. I did my job, Anna, with limited information, and I suggested lines of enquiry that were ignored,’ he said defensively.
‘Believe me, I’m on your side, Pete, but people like Freeman will try and shift the blame. Right, I’d best be off. I’m going to Fulham mortuary to see if Dr Harrow is available.’
‘I’d tread carefully where he’s concerned,’ Pete warned.
‘Why, what’s the problem?’
‘General Medical Council recently suspended him for four months for misconduct and bringing the profession into disrepute in a murder and suspicious death case.’
‘My God! This case goes from bad to worse. How did you find out about it?’
‘One of my old colleagues who moved up North was the lead scientist on a case Harrow was disciplined for.’ Pete opened his desk drawer and produced a newspaper article that he had printed from the Internet. He read a line from it to Anna before handing it to her to keep. ‘The panel found Dr Harrow had “deliberately ignored the guidelines” for his own convenience.’
‘Well, I guess I can give Fulham mortuary a miss then.’
‘He should still be there.’
‘You said he’s suspended.’
‘Only from working on suspicious death or murder cases – if it’s natural causes he can still cut them open and get his hands dirty,’ Pete said cynically.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about him earlier?’ Anna asked, glancing at the article.
‘You know me. I always like to save the best for last.’
In the lift down to the lab car park, Anna read over the article on Dr Harrow, noticing from the dates that he had about a week or so to go before he had served his suspension. She anticipated that the man would be difficult to interview, as he would be on the defensive. Another case of misconduct could result in his licence to practise being permanently withdrawn, leaving him with no job at all. Anna had just got to her vehicle when she saw Dewar parking in a nearby bay. Her first thought was to avoid her by ducking down behind her car but she quickly realized how silly it would be if Dewar had already seen her. The only thing to do was to approach her first and as Dewar got out of her car Anna could see from the look on her face that she was in a foul mood.
‘I thought you said you were going to tell me when you were going to see the scientist.’
‘I live down the road and popped in on the off-chance. His secretary said he went straight to court from home this morning,’ Anna lied, wanting to leave Pete to get on with his examination of the scene photographs.
‘Then why did you tell Joan and not me that you were seeing Pete Jenkins?’
Anna realized that she had neglected to warn the constable not to mention that she was going to the lab.
‘I think Joan misunderstood me. I told her that I was going to pop in to see if Pete was there. Sadly, as I just said, he’s not.’
‘You’ve been here for quite some time. Were you seeing the pathologist as well?’
‘He doesn’t work here. His office is at the mortuary in Fulham. We could go there now, if you like.’
‘On the off-chance he’s there, I suppose?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’ll have to do for now. What’s the address of the mortuary?’ Dewar said tetchily.
‘It’s not far. I can leave my car here and go with you.’
As Anna got into Dewar’s car, she remembered that she still had the newspaper article in her hand, and quietly folded it up to place it in her jacket pocket.
‘You can go over Dr Harrow’s report with him if you like, explain your theory about the case being a murder,’ Anna suggested.
‘Yes. So, you still think it was a suicide?’ Dewar asked.
‘As yet I’m undecided. Anyway, you’re more experienced at behavioural analysis than I am.’
‘True.’
At the mortuary, Dewar hurried to press the entry buzzer and waited impatiently for someone to come out and greet them. Eventually, a young female assistant dressed in blue overalls and white clogs approached and opened the locked door. Anna introduced herself, as did Dewar, who then asked if Dr Harrow was available. The assistant told them that he was just completing a routine post mortem and showed them to his office where she said they could wait.
The office was rather shabby and stank of stale cigarette smoke; the stained red carpet and curtains looked tatty and threadbare, as did the furniture. The ashtray on top of the old wooden desk was full of dog ends and beside it was an unwashed coffee cup with cold dregs in it. To one side of the desk was a pile of pathology folders, the top one of which was bloodstained. Balanced on these was a small plate with the remnants of a sandwich. A dust-covered X-ray viewer was hung on one wall, opposite which was a line of dented and rusty filing cabinets. The only seats for visitors were two plastic hardback chairs arranged to face Harrow’s desk. Both Anna and Dewar decided to stand while they waited.
‘Somebody really fucked up the feng shui in here,’ Dewar remarked, looking round the room and shaking her head.
‘The last time I was in this office, Doc Jennings was the pathologist. Like him, it was immaculate,’ Anna replied.
‘Please say you’ve got a wet wipe in your bag so I can clean those two chairs if we have to sit down?’ Dewar asked.
Anna told Dewar she hadn’t but gave her a couple of tissues. She wondered if the room was a reflection of Harrow’s work ethics.
‘If he walks in with blood and guts all over him I’ll be sick,’ Dewar said.
‘Right, ladies, what can I do for ya,’ asked a voice in a broad Yorkshire accent as a man who could only be Harrow entered the room still dressed in his mortuary overalls, the sleeves of which were spotted with blood. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and was lighting up a cigarette, which hung limply from his mouth. Harrow was a short man in his late fifties, bald and overweight with a large beer belly. His half-moon reading glasses teetered on the edge of his nose.
As he sat down in the worn leather chair it sagged a few inches under his weight. He opened his desk drawer and took out a packet of digestive biscuits then picked up the plate with sandwich crusts and tipped it into the bin. Using his nicotine-stained fingers he took six biscuits out of the pack, put them on the plate and invited Dewar and Travis to have one. Shocked by his lack of hygiene, they in unison said, ‘No, thank you!’
Dewar made the introductions and said she was on work experience with DCI Travis’s murder squad.
‘I doubt there’s much the bloody Met could teach your lot. FBI already know everything, don’t they,’ Harrow said and chortled at his joke, causing a lump of ash to fall from his cigarette onto his stomach. Dewar sat stone-faced, as did Anna, who felt quite repulsed by the man.