No Hiding Place: An edge of your seat mystery/thriller. (DI Sally Parker thrillers Book 2) (3 page)

“Okay, let’s see what we have.
Karen, take some shots before I turn the victim over, will you?”
Simon instructed one of his colleagues.

A young Scenes of Crime Officer
angled a camera at the body from her position close to the victim’s
feet and fired off several shots before moving to the woman’s head
and taking another ten shots or so. Then she nodded at Simon and
retreated to continue with her task of collecting evidence of the
area a few feet away from the body.

Simon gently pushed the body
onto its side and studied the open wound to the rear of the head.
“Ouch! I’m surmising this was the fatal blow. To me, the attack was
borderline extreme. Her attacker could possibly have been outraged
about something.”

“It seems impossible to even
consider that such brutality would come about from a mere car
accident, right?”

“My sentiments exactly. Her
face took the brunt of a few blows, too, as if someone was trying
to obliterate the woman’s beauty.”

Sally twisted her head this way
and that, observing the injuries, trying to figure out if the
victim had tried to ward off the attack. “What about defence
wounds, Simon?”

The pathologist rocked the
corpse back onto the ground then examined each of the victim’s
arms. “Nope, nothing.”

“So, I’m thinking that she was
maybe struck from behind with the first blow and then set upon in a
violent and frenzied attack. Am I right?”

Jack coughed slightly. “Is that
plausible?”

Sally shrugged. “I don’t know.
That’s what we’re trying to ascertain. What are you thinking,
Jack?”

“Just that it wouldn’t make
sense. Look at her position to the car. If her vehicle was shunted
from behind and she got out of the car to have a go at the other
driver, she wouldn’t walk backwards towards the person, would
she?”

“Good point. So?”

Jack leaned over to observe the
corpse and pointed at the victim’s jaw. “What if the first blow was
to her jaw? Someone took a swing at her with a heavy object and
knocked her off balance then carried on with the attack.”

Sally’s eyes narrowed as she
ran through the scenario in her mind. “If the incident took place
around midnight, it would’ve been pitch-black, right? What if the
attacker placed their headlights on full beam, momentarily blinding
the victim? She probably didn’t even see the weapon before it
struck her. That’s my best guess anyway.”

Simon and Jack both nodded.
Simon inspected the jaw closely; it moved freely in his hand.
“Broken. I suspect your assumption may be right after all,
Inspector.”

“Anything else you’d care to
share with us before we get off, Simon?”

“Not that I can think of. All
the wounds are either head or face related. Wait a minute—there’s a
faint bruise appearing on her chest, around the heart area.”

“Okay. Jack and I are going to
shoot off. We’ll question the witness and send him on his way then
report the death to the victim’s family, if that’s all right with
you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be, Inspector?
Go. I’ll continue with the preliminary exam here and then move the
victim to the lab for a PM. Do you want to sit in on that one?”

“Would you mind if I didn’t?
I’d like to question the family members ASAP.”

“No problem with me; you know
that. Good luck with your investigation. I’ll get my report to you
as soon as I can.”

Sally and Jack left the tent
and headed towards the witness.

The man, still looking
shell-shocked, got out of his vehicle when he saw Sally and Jack
approaching him.

Sally flashed her warrant card.
“DI Sally Parker, and this is my partner, DS Jack Blackman. You
are?”

He held out his hand for Sally
to shake. “Michael Meldrew. This is such an appalling thing to
stumble upon.”

“I appreciate that, Mr.
Meldrew. I promise not to keep you long. Can you tell us what
happened?”

He shook his head. “I set off
to work as normal, decided to take the scenic route this morning,
never dreaming that I would encounter this. That poor woman.”

“Did you see any other vehicles
in the area?”

“No, nothing. I never usually
do at this time of the morning, to be honest, Inspector.”

“Do you recognise the victim?
Sorry, her car?” Sally asked, pointing at the victim’s vehicle.

“I’ve seen it around, yes. I
couldn’t tell you who it belonged to, though. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Well, I don’t
want to hold you up any longer than necessary. Thank you for having
the patience to stick around and wait for us. Would it be possible
for you to give us an official statement now? Is that convenient
for you?”

“Of course. Any help I can
give, I will.”

“Jack, get the constable to
take down the statement, will you?”

Her partner set off to collect
the constable. While the constable began taking down the statement,
Sally and Jack walked back to the car.

“Poor bloke. Not the most
pleasant of things to find en route to work. Looks like we’ll have
to take the long way round to call in on the family home,” Jack
observed needlessly as they hopped back in the car.

“It’ll add a few miles on the
journey, Jack. No great hardship really. Stop being a grouchy
grandpa.” She chuckled when she saw her partner wince out of the
corner of her eye.

“You can go off some people,
you know.”

On the trip to the victim’s
house, Sally instructed Jack to chase up the information about the
victim she had requested from Joanna.

Jack reeled off the details as
Sally pulled into the drive and parked the car. “Gemma, married to
Mark Whiting. He’s a butcher.”

Sally shot round to face her
partner. “Is he now?”

Jack tutted. “That doesn’t mean
a thing, boss.”

“I know. Just winding you up,
Jack. Right, let’s get this over with.”

After Jack rang the bell, they
waited a few seconds. Sally flashed her ID at the blond man who
answered the door. “Mr. Whiting? I’m DI Sally Parker, and this is
my partner, DS Jack Blackman.”

“Thank God! Have you found
her?”

“Your wife?”

“Of course. I reported her
missing last night.”

“I think we’d better come in,
Mr. Whiting.”

He pushed the door back against
the wall and allowed them access. Sally and Jack followed the
distraught man through the house into a kitchen, where a cute
little girl wearing a pink pinafore dress and matching pink shoes
was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. “This little
cherub is my daughter, Samantha.”

“Sorry, Mr. Whiting, is there
any chance we can have this conversation alone? My partner can
watch over your daughter.”

His agitation showed in the
form of a grunt, and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling. However, he
relented after a few seconds. “In here.” He bent down beside his
daughter and held her hand. “Daddy won’t be long, sweetheart. The
nice policeman will sit with you until I return. All right,
pumpkin?”

“Can I talk to him? Mummy
always tells me it’s not good to talk to strangers, Daddy.” The
girl’s long blonde eyelashes fluttered rapidly as she eagerly
awaited her father’s reply.

“If the nice policeman wants to
talk to you, then yes. In this instance, I’m sure Mummy would allow
you to talk to him.”

“Oh, goody.” Samantha pulled
out the chair next to her and patted the cushioned seat with her
tiny hand. “Here, sit beside me, Mister. What’s your name?”

Jack looked bewildered at the
thought of spending time with the chatterbox child, but he
succumbed and sat next to the child while Sally left the room with
her dad.

Mr. Whiting invited her to take
a seat on the sofa as he closed the door to the modern living room,
which was spotlessly clean and tidy, considering there was a little
one in the house.

“Samantha is a real sweetie.
How old is she?”

“She’s five. She has her
moments, but yes, most of the time she’s an adorable little angel.
She takes after her mother. What news do you have for me on Gemma,
Inspector?”

The man was still standing, his
elbow resting on the mantelpiece above the open fire. “Perhaps it
would be better if you sat down.”

He hesitated for a moment or
two then dropped into the leather easy chair on his right, his
forearms resting on his thighs and his hands clenched together. “Is
she in hospital? Has she been injured in a car crash?”

She found it odd that he would
suggest his wife had been in a car crash, then chastised herself
for thinking along those lines.
Wouldn’t the majority of folks
think the same?
She chewed on the inside of her mouth then
delivered the news that she feared would rock this man’s world for
years to come. “I’m sorry, Mr. Whiting. It is regrettable that I
have to inform you that Gemma is dead.”

His eyes widened, and his mouth
hung open. Eventually, he found his voice. “What do you mean she’s
dead?”

“Again, this is difficult for
me to say, but it looks as though your wife was murdered last
night.”

He jumped to his feet and
started to pace the floor. “What? Murdered? Who would do such a
thing?” His shaking hand swept over his face and covered his eyes
as the tears began to fall. His shoulders shuddered. “My God, who
would do such a thing? To Gemma, of all people? She was gentle,
compassionate, a beautiful person, and wonderful mother. Jesus, how
am I going to tell Samantha that she’ll never lay eyes on her
mother ever again?”

“Is there someone who can help
you with that? What about your parents? Or Gemma’s, come to that.
I’ll need to inform them of Gemma’s death.”

“They’re divorced. She doesn’t
really see her dad much after he ran off to live with that
tart.”

The venomous words surprised
Sally. “If you give me your mother’s phone number, perhaps I could
call her for you, ask her to come over and sit with you.”

“No, I’ll do it. Mum would
never forgive me if she heard this news from a stranger.”

“I understand. Can you make the
call now? Are you up to that?”

He sucked in a large breath and
released it slowly through his quivering lips. Then he walked
across the room to the side table in the corner and picked up the
phone. “Mum, it’s me. Something dreadful has happened. Can you come
over? No, I can’t tell you more than that over the phone. Okay… see
you soon.”

He hung up and returned to the
easy chair. “Mum will be devastated when I tell her. She loved
Gemma like a daughter, the daughter she never had. The whole family
loved Gemma, in fact.”

“What about you? Did you love
her, Mark?”

He looked Sally in the eye and
shook his head. “How could you even ask such a thing? I’ve always
loved my wife.”

“Good, glad to hear it. I had
to ask; I’m sorry. We hear about so many cases where husbands and
wives have fallen out of love with each other and instead of
agreeing to an amicable divorce, one of the spouses does something
stupid like ending the other’s life.”

“Really? What a bloody sad
world we live in.”

“Indeed. Are you up to
answering some questions?”

“Go on. Not sure I’m
compos
mentis
enough to answer them fully, so you’ll have to forgive
me.”

“I will. Let’s see how we go.
Right, I take it your wife went out last night. Can you tell me
where?”

“Out with a few of her friends.
I don’t keep my wife on a chain, tied to the house, Inspector.”

His comment caused her to
frown.
What a strange thing to say!
She smiled, not letting
on that she thought his comment was somewhat out of place.

“Maybe you can let me know the
names and addresses of those friends? We’ll need to chat to them
ASAP, to see how the evening panned out.”

He went over to the table in
the corner again and withdrew an address book. Sally took her
notebook and pen from her jacket pocket. “Fire away.”

He reeled off four names
accompanied by addresses: Audrey Jones, Tara Metcalfe, Nadine
Thornley, and Milly Choudary.

“That’s excellent.”

Just then, the front door
slammed, and a dishevelled woman in her early sixties burst into
the room. Mark went to the woman and flung his arms around her. She
cuddled him back with a puzzled expression covering her makeup-free
face. “Whatever is the matter, child?”

With his face buried in her
neck, Mark said, “She’s dead, Mum. Gemma is dead.”

The woman shot Sally a glance
then pushed her son upright. “You’re not making sense, son. What do
you mean, Gemma is dead?”

Sally stood, tucked her
notebook into her pocket, and introduced herself to the woman. “I’m
DI Sally Parker from the Norfolk Constabulary. We were called out
to a scene not far from here, where your daughter-in-law was found,
murdered.”

The woman’s legs wobbled
beneath her, and Mark, momentarily forgetting about his own grief,
supported his mother and placed her on the couch.

“Murdered? How? Why?” the woman
stammered.

“That, I can’t tell you at this
moment in time. We think her car was struck from behind and forced
into a hedge. Looks like she might have confronted the driver of
the vehicle, who possibly attacked her for speaking out, perhaps
we’re looking at a severe case of road rage. That’s my initial
assessment anyway.”

“Oh my. I’m not sure what to
say. Where did it happen?”

“Just up the lane. I take it
you got diverted at the top of the road. Sorry, I missed your
name,” Sally said.

“It’s Yvette Whiting. Yes, I
was diverted at the top. I had no idea why.”

“Why don’t we all take a seat?
I know it’s a difficult time for you both, but I have a few
questions I need to ask. The sooner I get the answers, the quicker
our investigation can begin. Are you up to answering those
questions today?”