able to see that key connection – amidst the mountains of statements and data – for what it is.
But so far, evidence is in short supply. No one was seen trying to gain access to Karl and Leanne Colquhoun’s flat. No one saw Leanne Colquhoun until she ran screaming on to the Limekiln access deck. There is no sign of the murder weapon, which is possibly a narrow-bladed Stanley. No sign of the gauze and other materials that were used to tether and gag Karl Colquhoun. And no eyes.
Staffe has read and reread the forensic report on the scene. It makes no sense to him. The scene was clean as a whistle, save the substances that leaked from Karl Colquhoun. Residues of cleaning solutions were found on all handles, chair backs, doorplates and the bedstead. And on top of that the killer had found the time to pose for, and possibly take, a photograph in the middle of the execution.
If he is asked to believe that Leanne Colquhoun did all this, Staffe cannot for the life of him determine why she would flee the scene, screaming, leaving behind a handbag which contained a receipt from a supermarket that placed her out of her workplace close to the time of death.
Staffe sits down next to Johnson and waits for him to look up.
‘Any joy with Tenerife?’
‘Debra Bowker claims not to have been back here for over a year. I’m running checks with all the airlines but my guess is she’s telling the truth.’
‘And what did she say when you told her Karl Colquhoun was dead?’
‘All she said was the bastard never sent Christmas presents anyway.’
‘Was she shocked?’
‘I couldn’t say. Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘If she wasn’t shocked …’
‘I know, sir. I’m sorry, it just didn’t register.’
Staffe can see that Johnson is out on his feet. ‘How’s the new baby, Rick?’
‘He’s great, sir, but there’s three of them now in that bloody flat and Becky has lost interest in even going out. But I can’t afford anything bigger, no way.’
Staffe thinks about what kind of a mess Johnson is in. Becky Johnson used to be a lawyer, pulling in twice what her husband brought home. She went back to work after the first two were born, Sian and Ricky. But after the third, young Charlie, she gave up. Once, Johnson joked they’d be better off if he was the one at home. But he hadn’t laughed. Staffe had asked why Becky hadn’t gone back after Charlie but Johnson had looked daggers at him, said, ‘Is that your business? You don’t own me.’
‘Get yourself off home,’ Staffe says now. ‘Give me Debra Bowker’s number and I’ll call her.’
‘There’s too much to do.’
‘Take Becky and the kids down the park. And there’s a favour you can do me. I’ll call you later.’ Staffe scrunches a note up and presses it into Johnson’s hand, looks around furtively as he walks away.
When he reaches the door, Johnson calls out ‘Sir!’ looking at the twenty-pound note Staffe had slipped him.
‘Get a takeaway. And put the kids to bed early.’
Back in his office, Staffe picks up a copy of the photograph, reads the lettering.
SEE JUSTICE DONE.
See justice done
might mean ‘kill the guilty’.
See justice done might mean ‘protect the innocent’.
See justice done . Photograph it.
*******
The Kilburn house smells different. Marie has obviously burnt the lunch and been smoking her roll-ups. Harry has left his computer games strewn over the living-room floor, but Staffe can’t bring himself to be annoyed, possibly because of what he has in mind.
He quickly tidies up and opens the front windows and the doors on to the back garden to get a draught going, then gets down to business. Marie has left a note that she’ll be back at six and will cook dinner, so Staffe texts her to say he’ll be out. It is five o’clock now and he goes straight upstairs to the guest room. He sits on the floor and takes stock of how her suitcase is packed before he systematically goes through her things.
He tries
But so far, evidence is in short supply. No one was seen trying to gain access to Karl and Leanne Colquhoun’s flat. No one saw Leanne Colquhoun until she ran screaming on to the Limekiln access deck. There is no sign of the murder weapon, which is possibly a narrow-bladed Stanley. No sign of the gauze and other materials that were used to tether and gag Karl Colquhoun. And no eyes.
Staffe has read and reread the forensic report on the scene. It makes no sense to him. The scene was clean as a whistle, save the substances that leaked from Karl Colquhoun. Residues of cleaning solutions were found on all handles, chair backs, doorplates and the bedstead. And on top of that the killer had found the time to pose for, and possibly take, a photograph in the middle of the execution.
If he is asked to believe that Leanne Colquhoun did all this, Staffe cannot for the life of him determine why she would flee the scene, screaming, leaving behind a handbag which contained a receipt from a supermarket that placed her out of her workplace close to the time of death.
Staffe sits down next to Johnson and waits for him to look up.
‘Any joy with Tenerife?’
‘Debra Bowker claims not to have been back here for over a year. I’m running checks with all the airlines but my guess is she’s telling the truth.’
‘And what did she say when you told her Karl Colquhoun was dead?’
‘All she said was the bastard never sent Christmas presents anyway.’
‘Was she shocked?’
‘I couldn’t say. Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘If she wasn’t shocked …’
‘I know, sir. I’m sorry, it just didn’t register.’
Staffe can see that Johnson is out on his feet. ‘How’s the new baby, Rick?’
‘He’s great, sir, but there’s three of them now in that bloody flat and Becky has lost interest in even going out. But I can’t afford anything bigger, no way.’
Staffe thinks about what kind of a mess Johnson is in. Becky Johnson used to be a lawyer, pulling in twice what her husband brought home. She went back to work after the first two were born, Sian and Ricky. But after the third, young Charlie, she gave up. Once, Johnson joked they’d be better off if he was the one at home. But he hadn’t laughed. Staffe had asked why Becky hadn’t gone back after Charlie but Johnson had looked daggers at him, said, ‘Is that your business? You don’t own me.’
‘Get yourself off home,’ Staffe says now. ‘Give me Debra Bowker’s number and I’ll call her.’
‘There’s too much to do.’
‘Take Becky and the kids down the park. And there’s a favour you can do me. I’ll call you later.’ Staffe scrunches a note up and presses it into Johnson’s hand, looks around furtively as he walks away.
When he reaches the door, Johnson calls out ‘Sir!’ looking at the twenty-pound note Staffe had slipped him.
‘Get a takeaway. And put the kids to bed early.’
Back in his office, Staffe picks up a copy of the photograph, reads the lettering.
SEE JUSTICE DONE.
See justice done
might mean ‘kill the guilty’.
See justice done might mean ‘protect the innocent’.
See justice done . Photograph it.
*******
The Kilburn house smells different. Marie has obviously burnt the lunch and been smoking her roll-ups. Harry has left his computer games strewn over the living-room floor, but Staffe can’t bring himself to be annoyed, possibly because of what he has in mind.
He quickly tidies up and opens the front windows and the doors on to the back garden to get a draught going, then gets down to business. Marie has left a note that she’ll be back at six and will cook dinner, so Staffe texts her to say he’ll be out. It is five o’clock now and he goes straight upstairs to the guest room. He sits on the floor and takes stock of how her suitcase is packed before he systematically goes through her things.
He tries
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