The Fourth Cart, Page 3

  Chapter Three

  It had been a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon in early May, warm enough for Detective Chief Inspector Jack Magee to walk over the hills above Lewes in shirt sleeves. He and Jenny had taken their two kids, Carolyn and Jason, up to Black Cap for fresh air and exercise, to let them play in the woods and to stand on the concrete trig point pretending to spy pirate ships sailing on the distant sea. Magee was a true Lewesian; born, schooled, living and working in the county town.

  Whenever he could, Magee would jog or walk over the Downs. Especially around the old racecourse, from where one could see a white painted house nestling prominently on top of the hill to the south. His parents had bought the former two-up two-down miller’s cottage forty years ago when he’d been a toddler and had, as a labour of love, worked hard on it for twelve years to create a perfect haven. With its large rustic garden, swimming pool set amongst the ruins of the old mill and being surrounded by fields, the property had been an idyllic childhood playground. It had broken his young teenage heart the day his parents sold and moved out.

  The peaceful day lasted until Magee had got comfortably settled on the sofa and halfway through a comedy on television. At ten minutes before nine the telephone rang. He gave his wife a pleading look and said, ‘Would you mind, Jenny? It’s probably your mother.’

  ‘Unlikely,’ she replied. ‘I’ve already spoken to her today, she doesn’t need anything.’ Jennifer Magee nevertheless got up from her end of the sofa and walked out into the hallway, muttering over her shoulders, ‘And at this time of night it’s almost bound to be for you.’

  Magee closed his eyes and prayed otherwise. He knew she was likely to be right, but there was always hope. Seconds later came the words he so desperately wanted not to hear.

  ‘It’s for you, Jack!’

  The call made Magee’s heart sink. He removed Carolyn from his lap, walked out into the hallway and dodged a playful slap from his wife. He smiled at her as he took the phone. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is that DCI Magee?’ an impersonal voice asked. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir.’

  There was a certain way those words were spoken that unnerved Magee. Every time it was the same; a sort of cross between genuine sympathy and perverse delight at knowing someone's night had been ruined. ‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s been a murder, sir. Over in Hove.’

  ‘Hove? Christ man, I’m in Lewes. Isn't there someone else that can deal with it? There must be someone on duty who lives nearer?’ It was a desperate plea, one he knew would be ignored.

  ‘Sorry, sir. Superintendent Vaughan gave instructions for you to go. It’s a high profile case.’

  ‘Oh, for Christ sake!’ He cupped the phone and swore in more colourful language. He knew precisely what high profile meant to his boss; a potential embarrassment to the upper echelons of the Force, so don’t mess it up unless you have an urge to rejoin traffic control. ‘What’s the problem with it?’

  ‘The victim is a local dignitary, sir. Well, was, rather, I should say. Mr Todd Conners. He’s on the council.’

  ‘On the council? You mean he’s a councillor?’ Magee was astonished. The victim’s social status came as a surprise to him. It was at a level far below his interpretation of the word dignitary. He’d expected a Bishop at least.

  ‘And several members of the press are there already. Waiting outside the house, I understand.’

  ‘Oh great!’ Magee caught sight of his reflection in the hall mirror. Mr Grumpy Face, Carolyn had named it. It wasn’t attractive. It made him look ten years older. He tried a smile, but failed to make any improvement. ‘How did that happen then? With the press, I mean.’

  ‘We don’t know, sir.’

  Magee could guess though. It wouldn’t be the first time the press had beaten the police to a crime scene. Chances were they’d been tipped off by a busybody neighbour. ‘All right, give me the address,’ he mumbled, as he sought to find the pen and scribble pad which usually lay by the phone. Twenty seconds later he finished the conversation by saying, ‘I'm on my way.’

  Magee bade goodnight to Carolyn as she staggered drowsily up the stairs, promising to be back soon. The lie hurt deep. He kissed his wife goodnight, pretending not to hear her low sigh.

  Within fifteen minutes of leaving his house in Highdown Road on the Neville Estate, Magee turned his car off the A27 Lewes to Brighton by-pass into Dyke Road Avenue and proceeded into Tongdean Avenue. Turning into a side road, the house he sought soon became apparent; an enormous colonial style mansion, outside of which stood a morbid group of onlookers hungry for details. He ditched his car on the kerb and moved towards the drama. Holding his warrant card up in front, he fought his way through the congested sea of people. Not that any identification was necessary, for even to a novice officer his crusty expression marked him out as the officer in charge.

  ‘Damn!’ Magee cursed, as a camera flash dazzled him. He ducked under a strip of crime scene tape, strode up the driveway and disappeared behind the front door, relishing the relative peaceful respite from the noise outside.

  ‘Right then, who was first on the scene?’ Magee barked at a group of uniformed officers standing in the hallway.

  ‘I was, sir.’

  Magee took a notebook out of his jacket pocket. ‘Name?’

  ‘PC Fuller, Sir.’

  ‘And where’s the body?’

  ‘Upstairs, sir. First bedroom on the left.’

  ‘Fine. Lead the way, please, Fuller.’ Magee took a white protective suit proffered in his direction, struggled to squeeze into it, almost split a pair of slip-on shoe covers as he forced his feet in, then mounted the stairs at a brisk pace. On entering the bedroom, he found a lone boyish looking photographer busy taking shots of a bloodied body of a man on the floor. He waited a full minute before taking an exaggerated look at his watch.

  The action wasn’t lost on the cameraman. ‘Just one more shot from the front, please, if you don't mind. Then I'll be gone.’

  Magee tutted, thinking that a fashion photographer would have taken fewer shots of the latest cat walk sensation, Kate Moss.

  ‘Okay. Finished. He's all yours, Sergeant.’

  Magee bared his teeth. ‘Detective Chief Inspector to you, sonny.’

  ‘Really? Sorry about that.’

  Magee glared with contempt at the departing photographer, then knelt down for a closer examination of the dead man sprawled on the floor. The fact that a knife was sticking out of the man’s chest was not unusual in his line of work. What was unusual, though, was its appearance. The hilt appeared to be an ivory carving of a Buddha. Six inches long, he reckoned. Not your everyday common household weapon. Close up, the Buddha’s eyes seemed to stare back at him, hypnotically. He blinked hard to shake off its spell.

  As a commotion erupted outside the room, Magee looked up and caught sight of a dishevelled young woman noisily entering the room adjusting the fit of her protective suit. She squatted alongside the corpse.

  ‘Evening, sir,’ DS Melissa Kelly responded in answer to Magee's scowl.

  ‘And a good evening to you, Melissa. Glad you could make it out on a Saturday night.’ It then dawned upon Magee why his boss had dropped the case his way. It would provide a great opportunity, no doubt, for the man’s niece to chalk up a murder case on her CV. And it had been made plain a few months ago, in no uncertain words, that it was his job to ensure Melissa learnt the art of detecting well.

  ‘Has the police doctor examined the body yet?’ Magee barked at no one in particular.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ came a prompt answer. ‘Do you want to speak to him?’

  ‘Please,’ Magee mumbled. ‘In a minute.’

  ‘I'll let him know then, sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Magee replied to a disappearing back. He turned his attention to his sergeant. ‘So, come on then, Melissa. You’re here to learn. What do you see?’

  ‘Caucasian aged about forty, I'd say, slightly more perhaps. We
ll built, though running to fat. Throat slit, probably by the same weapon presently protruding from his chest.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be much else to say, sir. It’s pretty obvious how he died.’

  ‘True, but then the cause of death will be established at the post mortem. You need to be able to work out the how, why and when. Look around you. What do you see?’

  ‘Well nothing, sir. It’s just a bedroom.’

  ‘And?’ But there was nothing more forthcoming from his sergeant. He sighed wearily as he stood up. ‘Okay, okay. Stick to the basics. Write some notes, talk me through what you’re jotting down.’

  Melissa wrote fast as she reeled off the mundane things she observed, while Magee moved around the room. What struck him instantly was the tidiness of the room. The furniture looked to be in place, no ornaments broken, nothing seemed unusual or out of place. Even the victim looked neat, except for the blood. The clothes were in almost perfect condition; there was no ripped shirt or jacket as he might have expected if there’d been a fight. In fact, there was no sign of a struggle having occurred, and the only blood in the room was either on the body or on the carpet immediately surrounding the body.

  The only odd thing was the vomit he found on the floor of the en suite bathroom, though he guessed its presence was the result of someone finding the body. Wife he suspected, though it could just have easily been one of the fresh faced officers downstairs. He would create merry hell if his crime scene had been messed up by a novice. He walked around the room a couple of times before nodding his head in satisfaction.

  There was only one conclusion Magee could make. Todd Connors had died where he was attacked. The man had been standing near his bed when the murderer walked up to him and slit his throat. It was the only explanation of the jet of blood in front of the body. Then the assailant stabbed the victim in the chest. At no stage did the victim try to fight back, he must have just stood there and taken the punishment.

  Magee realized Melissa was still running a commentary. He listened for a few seconds and then turned and caught her eye. ‘But what are your general observations, Melissa? Try to get a feel for what happened. Try to picture the sequence of events. Who was where? How did the action go? What evidence is there to back up your thoughts? That's what's important.’ He then spent a couple of minutes with her replaying the action that he thought had occurred.

  ‘Now do you see? It's vital to work out the action of the crime. Remember that, please, if you never learn anything else from me. Next time go for the general picture, it’s so important. Without working that out, you're sunk. You won’t know what evidence to look for. And if you do find anything unusual, don’t ignore it if it doesn’t fit the picture you’ve built up.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Melissa replied as her head bobbed up and down.

  ‘And most important of all, remember that catchphrase you were taught in training; see beyond the victim, see the killer.’

  Melissa nodded for the umpteenth time. Magee could see in her eyes she was beginning to understand where he was coming from, but would she have got there by herself without his help?

  ‘What about a religious aspect to the case, sir?’

  ‘Religious? What makes you say that?’

  ‘The carved handle on the dagger. I've never heard of Buddhism being associated with a murder case before. I thought religious murders usually concerned deep, often distorted, Christian beliefs.’

  Magee half-smiled in response to his sergeant’s attempt at credibility. ‘Do you know anything about Buddhism?’

  ‘A little. Well, I probably know as much about Buddhism as I do about Christianity.’

  ‘Which would cover the back of a postage stamp, I suppose?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Melissa replied sharply, then softened her manner and added, ‘Well, two stamps perhaps.’

  Magee smiled despite himself. ‘Okay, Miss Expert, try this one for size; does Buddhism encompass the concept of sin like Christianity does?’

  He watched Melissa’s facial expressions as she thought about that one. It took her some time to conjure up an answer and, when she did venture to speak, she looked as if she wished she hadn't opened her mouth in the first place.

  ‘They have moral codes governing social behaviour, sir, if that's what you mean, sir. Thou shalt not commit murder, theft and such like. The teachings of The Lord Buddha describe them in detail, if I remember correctly.’

  The crunched up eyebrows on Melissa’s face hinted at something different. ‘You’ve studied Buddhism, have you?’

  ‘Well, sir, I've visited several temples in Thailand. I've even read the tourist catalogues. Well, you have to do something in between, erm, well,’ Melissa hesitated, as if trying to find the right words, ‘well, in between meals on holiday shall we say. Mind you, I've never seen a Buddha carved on a dagger before. Buddhism is supposed to be a peace loving religion. I wouldn't have thought it would be allowed. It seems curious in itself. It doesn't seem to fit in with Buddhist beliefs.’

  Magee nodded his encouragement. ‘But what about Buddhist ceremonies though?’

  ‘With a dagger? Buddhists don't sacrifice animals, sir. Nor do they hack off, erm, I mean circumcise, that is, the boys. Or girls, for that matter.’

  Magee frowned. Clearly Melissa’s trips to the Far East had been wasted.

  ‘Anyway, it's a nice knife,’ Melissa continued. ‘Easy to trace I should imagine.’

  Magee winced. ‘I doubt whether the poor bastard on the floor would concur with your description. Unusual perhaps, but “nice” is hardly an appropriate adjective is it?’

  Melissa seemed to reflect on the matter for a few seconds. Looking somewhat chastised, she replied, ‘No, sir, I suppose not.’

  ‘Come on. There's nothing more for us in here. Let's go back downstairs.’

  PC Fuller was waiting for the two of them on the landing outside the bedroom. Magee turned to him and asked, ‘What time did you arrive?’

  ‘Just before eight-thirty, sir. We were here within minutes of Mrs Conners’ call to the station.’

  ‘And when did the press get here?’

  ‘Within ten minutes of my arrival, I suppose, sir.’

  Magee frowned. ‘Ten minutes, huh? Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure, sir.’

  Magee pondered on the length of time it may take a news reporter to hear of a murder and get to the location. ‘Looks like our killer may have sought attention,’ he muttered on the way downstairs.

  ‘You think he phoned the press?’ Melissa piped up. ‘Earlier? But that means this was planned.’

  Magee smiled, pleased she’d caught on to his reasoning. ‘Indeed. Keep it to yourself though.’

  ‘Sir?’ PC Fuller called down to Magee as they made their way downstairs. ‘There’s something else you need to know.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘She had a gun, sir. Mrs Conners, that is.’

  ‘A gun? What type?’

  ‘A revolver, sir. She was holding it when we arrived. It’s been taken away already. No shots fired.’

  Magee nodded his thanks. At the foot of the stairs, PC Fuller introduced the police doctor. ‘Thank you for waiting, sir. I'm Detective Chief Inspector Magee, this is Detective Sergeant Kelly.’

  ‘Jenkins,’ replied the middle aged doctor by way of introduction. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘I just want to know the story. From your angle, that is.’

  ‘Straight forward, I should think. An extremely sharp knife has cut the victim’s throat. I imagine the post mortem will determine it to be the same one that's still up there. It must have been done with considerable force, the wounds are very deep. The assailant must have been standing right in front of the victim when the throat was slashed.’ Dr Jenkins gave a wry smile and added, ‘And he's right handed of course.’

  ‘He, you say? Not a she?’

  Dr Jenkins let out an impatient sigh. ‘All right then, he or she. Sorry, I’
d been led to believe that sexual equality has yet to reach the Sussex Constabulary. Person unknown, of male or female gender. Is that the correct parlance these days?’

  ‘I only want clarity, sir, because of the wife. Is she strong enough to inflict those wounds?’

  Dr Jenkins appeared to consider the matter for a while before replying, ‘Yes. Yes, indeed. Mrs Conners could have been strong enough. Given the right conditions, that is. Yet I doubt it very much, Chief Inspector.’

  Magee’s eyebrows raised a fraction. ‘And why is that, sir?’

  ‘Not enough time. I've been here since about eight forty-five. Death occurred between eight and eight-fifteen, nearer the latter time in my opinion. The body was still very warm and fresh when I arrived, the blood was only just beginning to congeal. Mrs Conners must have come across the body within minutes of death, if not seconds. If she'd done it herself then she would have been covered in blood. Yet there's not a splash on her and I don't think she would have had time to shower and change before I was called out.’

  ‘I see.’ Magee mentally struck off one potential suspect from his list. ‘Could you demonstrate the attack to the victim's throat, please?’

  ‘Of course. Right hand holds the knife down here by the left leg, whips it up at a slight angle from left to right. A bit like a tennis backhand swing.’

  The doctor's action confirmed Magee's suspicions. Todd Conners must have just stood his ground while it happened, which meant that he must have known, perhaps even trusted, whoever had done it. Surely, he reflected, no one in their right mind would let an intruder walk up to them that close, wielding a knife, without some attempt at self-defence.

  ‘Okay. Thank you, Doctor, sorry for holding you up.’ Magee bade goodnight and watched the doctor's back disappearing out the front door before contemplating his next move. ‘Who's next, Fuller?’

  ‘Well, Mrs Conners is in the sitting room, and there’s a suspicious character we picked up outside earlier on. He’s in the kitchen.’

  ‘Oh? And just what was this suspicious character doing outside?’

  ‘Watching the house next door, sir. Well, so he says anyway.’

  ‘Hmm. Okay, we'll get to him later. We’ll see Mrs Conners first.’

  Magee followed PC Fuller into the sitting room to find a woman in a crumpled heap, sobbing, on a sofa. ‘Mrs Conners? I'm Detective Chief Inspector Magee. This is my sergeant, Melissa Kelly. I'd like to ask you a few questions now, while the events are still fresh in your mind. How do you feel about that?’

  Susan Conners nodded her head, snuffled and said, ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘I gather from PC Fuller that there appears to be no sign of a break-in, nothing to indicate that the house has been burgled. Do you agree with that comment, Mrs Conners?’

  ‘Yes. Though I haven't checked thoroughly.’ She rubbed at her eyes and reached for a glass of what looked like brandy.

  ‘Did you hear anything? Any screams? Anything unusual?’

  ‘Nothing, Chief Inspector. Sorry. I was in my own bedroom doing my hair and make-up. I had the television on quite loud. Deliberately so, actually.’

  A sudden tensing of Susan Conners shoulders wasn’t lost on Magee. ‘Deliberately so, Mrs Conners? Why was that?’

  ‘So I couldn't hear my shit of a husband shouting at me to get a move on.’

  The outburst had been venomous. Magee frowned; perhaps he’d been too quick to take in Dr Jenkins’ comments. ‘Did your husband normally shout at you?’

  ‘Only when we were going out for the evening. I used to play stupid games with him. I would never be ready on time. It infuriated him and he would shout at me.’ She paused a moment. ‘Sorry, that must seem childish to you.’

  ‘Tonight was no different?’

  ‘No. No different at all. Maybe if I had been ready on time, then this wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘Yes, well, we shouldn't speculate on that, should we? You might have got involved yourself. Forget it. Where were you going tonight, by the way?’

  Susan Conners shrugged her shoulders. ‘Just a Masonic do. Nothing really special.’

  ‘Your husband was a Freemason?’

  ‘He was a property developer, Chief Inspector. The Masonic fraternity is good for business contacts. Everything my husband did was for business. Making money was his life.’

  Magee tried to put on a smile. ‘Not a family man, then?’

  ‘No, Chief Inspector. Not Todd. He had the kids packed off to boarding school as soon as they could walk, and they don’t like coming back much. Can’t say I blame them.’

  ‘What mood was he in tonight? Worried? Happy?’

  Susan Conners let out a deep sigh. ‘Foul as usual.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘He always insisted on me going out with him in the evenings so he wouldn't lose face in front of his friends. But he always resented having to take me along. And I resented him resenting me. Such evenings were always doomed from the start.’

  ‘Did you ever fight? Did he ever strike you, for instance?’

  Susan Conners looked up and caught Magee’s eye. ‘Are you suggesting I killed my husband?’

  Magee fell silent for a few seconds, waiting for Susan Conners to take another shot of her drink. When she looked calmer, he continued, ‘So, he never hit you, then?’

  ‘No, he never hit me. Todd was an aggressive man, but never violent. He worked out all his frustration in the office. He got through a succession of young secretaries, if you catch my drift. That’s no secret, by the way, I’m sure you’ll pick up on the gossip soon enough.’

  ‘In time, Mrs Conners. All in good time. So your husband wasn't a physical man then?’

  ‘Physical? No, that's just what our problem was. Todd hasn't been physical with me for nearly ten years.’ She dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  ‘Can you think of any reason why your husband would be murdered?’

  ‘None specifically. Though I'm sure you could find a few ex-tenants with a motive. He wasn't a pleasant man, at times, Chief Inspector. As I said, he made his living from property development. Sometimes that involved evicting little old ladies from their crummy damp flats. Occasionally it would get dirty. Todd never flinched from throwing squatters out on the street, or taking the roof off a house to flood the sitting tenants out. Do you get the picture?’

  Magee got the picture all right. And losing your home was certainly a strong enough motive to commit murder. ‘I understand that you were holding a revolver when PC Fuller arrived. Where did you get it?’

  ‘It was Todd's.’

  ‘Do you know how to use it?’

  ‘Not really. It just gave me a sense of security while I waited for the police to turn up.’

  ‘Where was it kept?’

  ‘In Todd's bedside cabinet.’

  ‘How long had he possessed it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Years, I suppose. He’s certainly had it ever since we were married.’

  ‘What was the reason he had it?’

  ‘I have no idea, Chief Inspector. Maybe he suspected this day would come. I really couldn't say. We never discussed it.’

  Magee contemplated the pathetic figure of the sad, dishevelled woman in front of him. If a gun had been around the house, then surely it would have been a preferred weapon if she had planned to kill her husband. It would have been far safer than to engage in a knife attack.

  ‘Just one last question, Mrs Conners. The knife that was used, does it belong to you?’

  ‘No, Chief Inspector. It does not.’

  ‘You’ve never seen it before?’

  ‘Never. It’s hideous, with that ugly carving on it. I wouldn’t have a thing like that in my house.’

  Yet she’d have a gun in the house, Magee reflected. ‘Thank you, Mrs Conners. I won't disturb you any more tonight. I may have other questions later, if you don’t mind. We'll have to go through your husband's personal effects, business affairs and so on. That will no doubt lead
to a certain degree of intrusion. Do you want anyone to stay with you here tonight, or do you wish to stay with relatives? I'm afraid we'll be working all night, the spotlights and noise may disturb you.’ Privately, he was thinking she would be out like a light after the amount of brandy she appeared to have downed in the last few minutes.

  ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. But the house is all yours. I've telephoned a friend, he’ll be coming to collect me in a minute.’

  Magee was just about to excuse himself when he heard shouting coming from the front hall, and the front door slamming. He went out to investigate, only to find a constable on the floor with blood seeping from his nose. A few seconds later the front door reopened and two constables led in a rugged, handsome young blond man straining against handcuffs.

  Magee asked, ‘What on earth's going on?’

  ‘This bastard just laid Johnson out, sir. We got him before he managed to get far.’

  ‘What was he doing in here?’

  ‘I mentioned him to you before, sir. Earlier this evening, he was sitting outside in his car watching the house next door. I asked him to come inside and give a statement. Johnson had been sitting with him in the kitchen waiting for you, sir. A few moments ago he decided to do a runner.’

  Magee gave the struggling man a quizzical look. ‘That wasn't very nice, sir,’

  The man ceased struggling. ‘I've been framed. You bastards! You’re going to pin this on me, aren't you?’

  Feigning innocence, Magee asked, ‘Are we, sir? Why would we do that?’ But there was no answer forthcoming. He studied the man’s face for a few seconds before demanding, ‘What's your name?’

  Again, there was no reply from the blond man.

  ‘His name’s Mansell, sir,’ interjected PC Johnson. ‘Paul Mansell, according to his driving license. Age twenty five, this month. A Kemp Town address.’

  ‘Well, Mr Paul Mansell. We'll talk later. Tomorrow morning, I suggest. A night in the cells should loosen your tongue.’

  ‘Are you going to charge me with murder?’

  ‘Not yet,’ replied Magee. He then turned to the constable with the bloody nose. ‘Book him for assaulting an officer, resisting arrest, withholding evidence, anything you like, Johnson. Nothing too serious, though, just enough to keep him locked up until we've all had a good night’s sleep.’

  Magee left Paul Mansell to face the wrath of Johnson and his colleagues then spent a while searching the house, confirming his theories about the case. There were no obvious signs of a break-in and no ransacking had taken place. He hoped the Scene Of Crime Officers would come up with something meaningful. For the time being, though, he decided he might as well go home and rest. There seemed nothing more to be gained from searching the house; no reason not to leave the case in the capable hands of his sergeant.

  Magee was about to leave the house when the front door opened and a neatly dressed man in a black suit stepped inside. As their eyes met, Magee’s jaw dropped in shock. ‘Nick Price,’ he hissed. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Nick Price’s upper lip turned into a snarl. ‘Well, well, if it isn’t PC Plod himself.’

  ‘Get out of here, Price, this is a crime scene!’

  Nick Price squared his shoulders and spat back, ‘Fuck you, Magee! I’ve been invited.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Susan.’

  ‘Susan Conners? You know Susan?’

  ‘I certainly do. She phoned me an hour ago, asked me to come over to sort this mess out. And I can see why.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘What do you think, you twat.’

  Although Magee was taller and larger than Nick Price, the smaller man held his ground firm. In fact, Nick Price looked as though he was steeling himself for the first punch.

  A slurred voice came from nearby, ‘Nick? Is that you, Nick?’

  Nick Price backed off, a look of hatred welling within his eyes. He jabbed a finger in Magee’s direction. ‘One day, old son, as promised, I’ll get even with you.’

  Magee sighed heavily as Nick Price disappeared into the sitting room.

  A voice from behind said, ‘Wow! What was that all about, sir?’

  Magee turned abruptly to find Melissa looking concerned. ‘Hmm? Oh, nothing.’

  ‘Wasn’t that Nick Price? The property developer?’

  ‘Yes it was.’

  ‘You know him, sir?’

  ‘We’ve met before a few times. It’s never been a pleasant experience.’

  ‘He looked as though he was going to take a swipe at you, sir.’

  ‘Yes. I thought so too.’

  ‘Why would he want to do that?’

  ‘Nothing, Melissa. It’s ancient history.’

  ‘But Nick Price is a respectable businessman, he’s well known for his charitable works. Why would he want to pick a fight with a policeman?’

  Magee shrugged off the comment. ‘Just shows you can’t believe everything you read in the newspapers. There’s a dark side to that man.’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘No doubt. Anyway, if you don’t mind, I’m going home now. You can wind up here. Get SOCO to finish up, get the statements together and we’ll go through it all tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? On a Sunday?’

  ‘We’ll interview that Paul Mansell character in the morning.’

  Melissa’s shoulders sagged. ‘Right. Goodnight then, sir.’

  Magee left the house, pleased to distance himself from Nick Price. He stepped out into a blinding bright arc lamplight that was illuminating the property, only to be faced with an army of reporters. Even a television crew had arrived, hovering like vultures.

  PC Fuller, standing nearby, looked almost apologetic as he said, ‘They're waiting for a statement, I'm afraid, sir.’

  Magee grimaced then walked down the driveway to do battle with the press. He put his arms behind his back, drew in a deep breath and said, ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’

  But before Magee could speak further, he was bombarded by a barrage of inane questions shouted in unison by a pack of speculative journalists. ‘Gentlemen, please, if I may speak?’ He waited a few seconds for a gap in the melee. ‘I can confirm that a death has occurred here tonight. I cannot comment on whether it was a domestic matter or not. A man is helping us with our enquiries. However, we are unable to comment on his possible involvement. That's all for now, gentlemen. If you will allow me through, please? Thank you.’

  Magee pushed his way through the journalistic scrum, wondering what sort of warped minds reporters must possess to ask the sort of sacrilegious questions now being shouted in vain at his disappearing back