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16
After the helicopter had left, the man who had replaced Zoë as Oxmarket’s local GP, joined us and gave us all the information that I required. Ian Hammond had been found lying near the window, his head by the marble window-seat. There were two wounds, one between the eyes and the other, the fatal one, on the back of the head.
“He was lying on his back?”
“Yes. There is the mark.” He pointed to a small dark stain on the floor.
“Couldn’t the blow on the back of the head have been caused when it hit the floor?” DI Silver asked.
Much to her annoyance I had sent Kimberley off to use the many facilities available to the guests within the restored grand Neo-Jacobean mansion. They varied from a twenty metre p
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COUNTER MEASURES 17
The bar was empty except for Sir William Frederick Patterson who was sitting by himself playing patience in an alcove formed by the left hand of three bow windows. We walked across the heavy carpet, noticing the rich background music of Hans Zimmer filling the room. “You must be Detective Inspector Paul Silver and John Handful, the consulting private detective,” he said as we came up. “And you must be Sir William Frederick Patterson.” DI Silver responded, sharply. “Please join me,” he said waving to two chairs that faced him. “Just let me finish this. Drink?” “Yes, please.” I said and we sat down and waited. He beckoned to the barman who came over
COUNTER MEASURES 18
We entered the imposing circular dining room, and stood for a few moments at the wide double-doored entrance. I casually looked around and could almost smell the affluence in the room from the few guests already seated for lunch. The room was filled with round tables, covered with immaculately white tablecloths and fresh flowers in the centre of each, beneath bright crystal-like chandeliers. Even the gleaming cutlery appeared to be silver. The head waiter greeted us and led the way to one of the smaller tables in a comparatively quieter part of the dining room. Once we were seated the head waiter barely waved a hand and a waitress dressed in a creamy white blouse and a slim black skirt with dark tights arrived with the menus and I ordered a large bottle of sparkling mineral water. We perused the menus in silence until the waitress returned with the water and poured two glasses.&
COUNTER MEASURES 19
The day after I returned from Onehouse Island, Maria Ashe, was waiting for me in my outer eight by ten office and I motioned her into the room with the door marked “PRIVATE,” and shut the door behind me. She was an attractive red-head in her early thirties and she had hired me to find out if her husband was having an affair. We had first met at the café, Julie’s Place. She had been nervous about hiring me. A newbie. Some could get cold feet. Others had feet of clay. They wanted someone to peek behind the curtains, but they are frightened of what they might find. She had used the phrase “seeing someone else” which sounded politely courteous coming from her lips. Most spouses tended to voice their mistrust in cruder terms. &nb
COUNTER MEASURES 20
Mortuaries were places where the dead stopped being people and turned instead into being bags of meat, offal, blood and bone. I had never been sick at the scene of a crime, but the first few times I had visited a mortuary the contents of my stomach had fairly quickly nearly been rendered up for examination. Eventually, the body bag was brought into the post-mortem room and the corpse of Vasily Kutziyez was laid out on the autopsy table, beneath the hum and glare of powerful halogen lighting. The room was antiseptic with a stinging aroma of chemicals. Voices were kept muffled, not so much out of respect but from a strange kind of fear. The mortuary, after all, was one vast memento mori and what was happening to Vasily Kutziyez’s body would serve to remind each and every one of us that if the body were a temple, then it was possible to loot the temple and scatter its treasures and reveal its preciou
COUNTER MEASURES 21
Professor Stephen Baker took almost another two hours to complete the autopsy after breaking for lunch. He ate a vegetarian curry consisting of organic mushrooms and potato’s, washed down with a slimline tonic at The Grinning Rat, before rejoining us at the Oxmarket Police Station to tell us what he’d had for lunch and of course his findings. “Not all the relevant tests have been completed yet.” He began, as we gathered in DI Silver’s small cramped office. “Time scale?” DI Silver asked abruptly. “A few more days, I’m afraid.” the pathologist replied. “I think you’ll find not only did he drink two bottles of red wine but he also snorted a line of cocaine as well.” &n
COUNTER MEASURES 22
Kimberley moved against me in the dark and put her mouth on the thin skin somewhere just south of my neck. I tightened my arms round her and buried her nose in her clean, sweet-scented hair. It was a shame, I thought hazily, that the act of sex had got so cluttered up with taboos and techniques and therapists and sin and voyeurs and the whole commercial ballyhoo. Two people fitting together in the old design should be a private matter and if you didn’t expect too much, you’d get on better. One was as one was. Even if a girl wanted it, I could never have put on a pretence of being a rough, aggressive bull of a lover, because, I thought sardonically, I would have laughed at myself in the middle and it had been all right, I thought, as it was. “Kimberley,” I said. No reply.
COUNTER MEASURES 27
Charlie barked and Kimberley took her time opening the door. I heard her struggling to make him get back into his basket, but eventually the door opened and she was standing there. She was wearing a bath robe, fresh out of the shower and the light behind her haloed her hair. The corridor of her apartment looked warm and inviting. “You’re early,” she said. “Sorry,” I said as I stepped inside. “What time is the film on?” “Not until a quarter-to-eight.” “Gives me enough time to get ready then,” she said. “Certainly does,” I said, cupping her face in my hands. I pushed my fingertips into her
COUNTER MEASURES 23
I went back to my tiny second-floor suite of offices, sat behind my desk and turned on my laptop computer. I logged on to the internet and checked my e-mails, many of which were junk from various finance firms offering payday loans with extortionate interest well above the norm and details of how to claim back wrongly sold PPI. Nestled amongst the trash were three e-mails from the local Oxmarket solicitors, Hogbin, Marshall and Moruzzi: one confirming my fee for the Ashe case that I had just completed, one asking me to research a local health insurance fraud and the third was to check on the security of a local stables that housed the favourite for the Grand National. I replied to each e-mail separately before entering the Google search engine and typing in ‘Junior Ballroom Dancing Champions’ but this turned up numerous
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