Under a Silent Moon: A Novel (3 page)

Flora didn’t answer. Given a choice, she would much prefer to work with this woman over Connor Petrie. Nigel had phoned him twenty minutes ago and told him to get his arse down to the stables. He’d been somewhere else, clearly, even though he was supposed to be working.

Petrie, leaning against the horsebox, gave them a wave as they approached. “Who’s this, then?”

“This is one of the police officers,” Flora said quickly. “Miranda.”

“You here about Polly?” he asked. “Boss told me. Lots of blood everywhere, right?”

“Shut up!” Flora snapped at him. “Have some bloody respect. You’re here to work.”

“I’m the family liaison officer,” Miranda said, her tone even. “Here to help, if I can.” She offered her hand, and after some shuffling and wiping, Connor gave it a brief shake.

Oh God, this was no good. The ugly little bastard was going to have her crying in a minute. She had come out here to try and take her mind off the subject of Polly’s death, lose herself in mindless physical activity. She walked away from them to the hayloft. Connor could talk to the police all he wanted, she wouldn’t be there to listen. Didn’t care anymore, in any case.

MG11 WITNESS STATEMENT

Section 1—Witness Details

NAME:
Felicity Jane Elizabeth MAITLAND

DOB
(if under 18; if over 18 state “Over 18”)    Over 18

ADDRESS:
    
Hermitage Farm
                      Cemetery Lane
                      Morden
                      Briarstone

OCCUPATION:
Farm manager/housewife

Section 2—Investigating Officer

DATE:
Thursday 1 November

OIC:
DS 10194 Samantha HOLLANDS

Section 3—Text of Statement

My name is Felicity Maitland and I own and run Hermitage Farm, together with my husband Nigel. My main role is running the stables. We have five horses, three of which are liveries, the remaining two belong to us.

Polly Leuchars is a family friend and has been working with us since December last year, looking after the horses. As part of the arrangement we allowed Polly to live at Yonder Cottage, which is part of the farm estate. She was expected to be working with us for another few months, after which she was planning on going abroad. I do not know where to.

On Wednesday 31 October Polly came to work as normal. She asked if she could go into town at lunchtime, and I agreed. She offered to do some shopping for me as well. She left in her car at about 12.30. I did not see her again until 3, when I saw her riding out in the top field.

I saw her return a couple of hours later through my kitchen window and I went to the stables to talk to her. She said she had been unable to get the things I wanted. I was very disappointed, as I could have gone into town myself if she had told me sooner. We had a bit of an argument about it. She left without finishing off the work in the stables, claiming she had a headache. The last time I saw her alive was around 5.30.

The next morning Polly was due to start work at 7 but at about 9 I noticed that the horses weren’t out in the back field, so I went down to see what was happening. Polly wasn’t there. The horses were quite agitated as they usually have breakfast by 8. I fed them and let them out into the field. After that I went to Yonder Cottage to see where she was. By the time I got there it was probably gone 9.30.

I noticed Polly’s car was in its usual place and the back door to the cottage, which we use as the main entrance since it is nearer the road, was wide open. It opens into the kitchen and I could see blood there. I called out several times but there was no response. I was very frightened. I went to go through to the stairs. The door to the hallway was not completely shut, but I needed to push it open in order to go through.

I could see a body on the floor, right by the door, and a lot of blood everywhere. I almost fell over the body, which I recognized as that of Polly Leuchars by the color of her hair and her build.

I went back into the kitchen and used the phone there to dial 999.

I did not notice if anything was missing from the house and I do not know why anyone would want to kill Polly.

Section 4—Signatures

15:57

“Right, let’s have some hush, please,” Lou said, hoping her voice sounded more commanding than she felt. The briefing room was packed. Andy Hamilton was sitting right at the front; next to him was Barry Holloway. Her detective sergeant, Sam Hollands, was right at the back, her mouth set in a determined line. Lou knew she would probably never have so many people at a briefing again; by the time the first week was over, she would start to lose people to other duties and would have to beg, borrow, or steal to get them back. If, heaven forbid, the case was to drag on into months, she would end up with only a couple of the people here now.

She needed a quick arrest.

A few moments before her mobile had rung. The display said it was the superintendent, probably calling for a prebriefing update, or maybe to wish her luck with it. Whatever it was, she would have to ring him afterward. Being late for the briefing would not be a promising start.

She was quietly relieved at how quickly silence had descended on the room. She wasn’t going to get too many chances to find her place at the head of this team.

“For those of you I’ve not met, I am DCI Louisa Smith. I’m going to give you some background, and then I’ll hand over to Barry, who will get us all up to speed on where we are now. Firstly, let me say that if you have any problems here I want you to feel you can come and see me or call me at any time. We all need a swift result with this one. And, as you’re aware, this is a murder inquiry, and anything you hear in this briefing may be of a sensitive nature, so please keep it to yourselves.” The standard warning.

Clicking the down arrow on her laptop, the first slide:

OP NETTLE
Murder of Polly LEUCHARS

With a picture of Polly herself, taken earlier in the year; it was a poignant photograph because she looked so young, so alive, beautiful, in a fresh, carefree sort of way, with long white-blond hair and tanned skin from spending the summer outdoors.

“This morning at just after nine-forty, Polly Leuchars’s body was found by her employer at her home, Yonder Cottage, Cemetery Lane, Morden. Polly worked as a groom at Hermitage Farm and lived in the cottage because she was a family friend of the Maitlands, who, as we all know, own and run Hermitage Farm.”

A few murmurs.

“Polly was on the floor in the downstairs hallway and had been severely beaten. She was wearing pajamas and her bed had been slept in. Early estimates from the pathologist put the time of death as between midnight and four, although this needs to be confirmed.”

Lou looked at the sea of faces. She still had their undivided attention and some of the late shift were busy making notes. “Right. Over to you, Barry. For those of you who don’t know, Barry Holloway is our reader-receiver.”

“Guv.”

Lou stepped to one side of the projection screen, watching the room.

Barry fiddled with the laptop. “Anyone not happy with scene photos, look away now, folks. Otherwise I’ll warn you when we get to the really grim ones.”

The first slide came up, a picture of the kitchen of Yonder Cottage. Blood on the floor, on the work surfaces.

“Good news and bad news so far. The good news: we’ve probably got forensics all over the place. Nothing confirmed until we get the CSI report back, but for now spatter marks indicate the main attack took place downstairs in the hallway. No sign of forced entry but apparently the back door wasn’t routinely locked. No sign of the murder weapon, and we’re waiting for confirmation of what that could be. Something solid and heavy, in any case.”

The slides clicked over to the stairs. “We’ve got some good shoe marks, and a smeared handprint. Likelihood of fingerprints is pretty good. Brace yourselves for the next few, if you’re squeamish.”

Next slide, the hallway, stairway to the rear. Body in situ.

Click.
Close-up on what remained of Polly Leuchars. She was facedown, one arm up near her head, the other by her side, one knee brought up, wearing cotton pajamas, patches of pink still visible in all the dark brown and red; flashes of still-blond hair; white bone showing through.

Click.
The side of Polly’s face, swollen purple skin in the places where you could actually see the skin. What could have been bruising under a still perfect shell-like ear.

Someone in the room let out a long breath; otherwise there was silence.

“As you can see, this is a nasty one. There’s not a lot of Polly’s head left. We had to get initial identification from the Maitlands via some jewelry, although Felicity Maitland assumed it was Polly from her size and her hair. Extensive blood loss here, here, and over here.”

Lou looked across at the faces earnestly taking in the bloody scene on display and trying not to show emotion. They’d all seen stuff like this before, but it didn’t mean they were unaffected by it.

“Postmortem hopefully tomorrow. We’ll have to wait until then for the first thoughts. Guv.”

“Thanks, Barry.” Lou resumed her place and flipped on to the next slide. “This is where we are now. We have an initial witness statement from Felicity Maitland. Sam’s been in touch with Miranda Gregson, who is our FLO. She’s been with the family all afternoon. How are they, Sam?”

Sam Hollands, stockily built with a sweep of heavy blond hair, spoke up from the back. “Felicity Maitland is in a bad way and her husband keeps feeding her alcohol, which isn’t helping. Flora, their daughter, has been looking after everyone, not saying much. She’s got a flat in Briarstone.”

“What about Polly’s parents?”

“The mother, Cassandra Leuchars, died a few years ago. I asked about Polly’s father but nobody seems to know who that is.”

A hand went up at the back. “Ma’am?”

“Yes?” Lou didn’t know this one. A brown-haired chap, older.

“DC Ron Mitchell. We just had reports come in of another body being found this morning, might be linked to this—did you get that already?”

Lou hated to be wrong-footed, especially in a briefing. “Thanks, Ron, could you enlighten us, please?”

“I got a report from Briarstone nick. They’ve been dealing with a suspected suicide, complicated by the husband of the deceased keeling over with a heart attack when a patrol went round to break the news. Dog walker saw a car had gone over the quarry cliff at Ambleside, called it in. Initial patrol and paramedics went down via the access track. Too ropey for cars, unfortunately, so they got down there on foot. After that it took a while to get the rescue team to get some climbing gear down there. Anyway, there’s a woman’s body in the driver’s seat of the car. Bit of a mess. The car’s a silver Corsa, late model. Registration in the name of a Mrs. Barbara Fletcher-Norman, address Hayselden Barn, Cemetery Lane, Morden—right across the road from Hermitage Farm.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“What happened with the husband?” Lou said.

“They got to the address and the old man was getting out of the shower. Said he thought his wife had gone out early, that he got back from work late last night and went to bed, assumed she was out with friends. So he hadn’t seen her since yesterday morning when he left for work.”

“Right,” said Lou, not sure where this was heading.

“Well, then it gets interesting.” Ron, loving the attention, flipped over the pages of his notebook with a flourish. “They went into the kitchen with him, and there’s what looks like blood in there. Not all over the place, but the kitchen’s a mess, and there’s blood on a tea towel by the sink. Husband seems dead shocked by this. Claims he never went into the kitchen last night or this morning. Pretty soon he starts having trouble breathing, then all of a sudden he goes gray and collapses. They called for Eden District Ambulance Trust and did CPR in the meantime but it was a few minutes before the ambulance got there. I think it was the one that had been up at the cottage.”

Lou looked across the faces for someone reliable and unfortunately alighted on Andy Hamilton. The call from Buchanan must have been about this. What were the chances? Two bodies from adjacent properties, on the same morning, in a tiny place like Morden? They
had
to be linked.

“Andy, they’ll probably open a second case for this, even though it might be part of our job. Can you find out who’s in charge and see if you can take it on? We won’t be able to get a search team or CSI in there but we need to make sure the Barn is sealed off until we can treat it as a scene. We don’t know it’s linked, but I think for now we should assume it is.”

“Ma’am.” Andy smiled warmly, clearly pleased with himself for landing a juicy job.

“Ron, anything else?”

“Briarstone ran a next-of-kin check through the old boy’s work and the only name they came up with was a Mrs. Taryn Lewis, daughter of Brian Fletcher-Norman, the husband. Turns out she’s not spoken to her father for months. That’s about where we’ve got to.”

“Where is this place in relation to our cottage, exactly?”

“A hundred yards or so away, no more.”

“Right.” Lou digested the information, working out the best step forward with it. “Thanks, Ron. How’s Mr. Fletcher-Norman doing, do we know?”

“He’s in intensive care in Briarstone General. Not looking too bright. Be lucky to get an interview anytime soon.”

“And what about the body in the car?”

“Waiting for PM.”

“Thanks, Ron. I’ll leave that one with you.”

Ron was slightly red in the face. Lou guessed it had been a good few years since he’d been able to play a trump card in an initial briefing. “Barry? Back to you. How’s the intel looking?”

Barry Holloway was the most experienced member of her team as far as Major Crime was concerned. He’d been the reader in more MIRs than she could count.