CODE TO MURDER, page 3
“If there was a struggle and he was worried about the possibility of getting caught, maybe he ditched them so he couldn’t be linked to what happened to Mr Anderson?” suggested Kevin.
“Okay, let’s do a check of the hotel and any places he could have put the items on his way out, before getting caught by security. Even look outside the hotel near any windows he could have dropped them out of with a view to picking them up later if he made it out without being caught.”
After a pause while the team noted down his instructions, Ben asked, “How did he even get into the rooms?”
“He had a key card. Not sure whether he had help from someone on the hotel staff or whether he may have hacked the system and had a cloned card. He’s downstairs now, ready for interview,” said Julie.
“Okay, can you check that with the security manager? I want to know how he got access to the card and whether their computers can show which rooms he accessed with it – especially whether he accessed James Anderson’s room. We’ll do the interview after we get that information back,” said Ben.
“Will do,” replied Julie.
“Kevin, what’s the state of play with the statements we took from the hotel last night?” asked Ben.
“I’m still going through them, sir – there were a lot. I’m in the process of cross-checking statements against others to confirm alibis. This should leave me with a shortlist of those who don’t have alibis – or whose alibis don’t add up.”
“Okay, good,” said Ben. “Can you also try and establish James Anderson’s movements from the time he went back up to his hotel room after lunch? Did he leave it again? Did he buy anything at the bar? Was he seen with anyone else during the afternoon? Did he get any messages from reception? Also check with his phone provider whether he received or made any calls.”
“On it, sir,” replied Kevin.
“What about CCTV? I noticed some cameras in the reception area.”
“That’s right,” said Julie, “they have CCTV covering all public areas, but only on the ground floor. So that covers the restaurant, the lifts and stairs – so we can see everyone entering and exiting reception – as well as all entrances and exits to the hotel itself.”
“Nothing upstairs?”
“An upgrade and implementation in all corridors is scheduled, but unfortunately none at the moment,” replied Julie.
“Well, let’s check what we do have against witness statements and get a handle on who went up or downstairs within the likely timeframe we currently have for Anderson’s death. In the meantime, I’ll go and see Joan Scott and see if I can chivvy her along with the forensics report,” said Ben.
“Good luck with that,” laughed Julie. She knew Joan well. Never one to give too much away until she had finished her formal reports. “I meant to ask, sir, how was your holiday? Did you manage to switch off?”
“It was a nice break – a bit of sea air is good for the soul – good fish suppers and walks along the beach. All too short though,” replied Ben. “And no, not really. I couldn’t get my mind off . . . well, you know what.”
“Yes, I know, sir.”
Ben sighed. “I just wish that case had never landed on my desk.”
CHAPTER 7
Ben sat in the busy doctors’ waiting room. It was not somewhere he had been very often.
In fact, he was struggling to recall the last time he had even seen a doctor. Living in Clackmannanshire, Scotland’s ‘Wee County’, he felt he kept himself fit, and living in the shadow of his beloved Ochil Hills, he enjoyed nothing better than rambling walks up the hills and along the trails. The Wee County’s motto was ‘Look Aboot Ye’, appropriate for Ben in both his professional and personal life.
But he was now in unfamiliar territory. He looked up at the walls of the waiting room: pastel-coloured walls with pastel-coloured paintings of landscapes, many of them local. He supposed they were meant to calm people and distract them while waiting, as the latest tunes from Radio 2 sung out in the background.
Dr Gillespie came out from his consulting room and shouted, “Mr Fitzpatrick, please.”
Ben followed him through and sat in the chair while the doctor closed the consulting room door.
“We don’t see you often, Mr Fitzpatrick. What seems to be the trouble today?” asked the doctor.
“Well, a number of things,” said Ben, “I haven’t been sleeping well of late, I’m always feeling tired. It’s hard to describe how I feel. I suppose a wee bit ‘fuzzy’, not as sharp as usual. It’s as if something isn’t right, but I can’t put my finger on what – if that makes any sense? I’m also a bit irritable, people keep telling me, which isn’t like me, I might add. My wife also hooked me up to one of those home blood pressure monitors, which showed readings concerningly high, so she chivvied me along to see you to get a check-up.”
“Okay, your wife was right to do so. What do you work as, Mr Fitzpatrick?”
“I’m a detective chief inspector in the police.”
“I dare say that can be a stressful job?”
“It has its moments.”
“Let’s do a few checks,” said the doctor.
After taking Ben’s blood pressure, checking oxygen levels, weighing him and taking blood samples for testing, they had what seemed to Ben a very long chat about Ben’s diet, whether he smoked – which he didn’t (one question correct at least) – alcohol intake, diet when he was working, particular stressors in the job currently, and any issues outside the job that might be impacting his health.
He asks more questions than I do, Ben thought.
“Right, Mr Fitzpatrick, what I can say at this stage is your blood pressure is high and you are carrying a little bit more weight than would be ideal for your five-foot-ten frame. I’ll give you a chart to record your blood pressure twice a day over the next seven days. In the meantime, I’ll send the blood tests off. They should be back in a couple of days so if you could make an appointment to see me towards the end of the week, we’ll have another chat about what they show, if anything, and take it from there. Is that okay?”
“Yes, that’s fine, doctor,” said Ben, beating a hasty exit, keen to get back to work.
That was painless, he thought to himself, with absolutely no inclination of what was to come.
CHAPTER 8
Ben entered the office of Dr Joan Scott, senior forensic scientist. He laughed to himself about how he had gone straight from the office of the doctor to the living to the office of the doctor to the dead.
“Morning, Joan,” said Ben, smiling.
“Morning, Ben, fancy seeing you here today,” she said sarcastically.
“Well, it’s like this, Joan, I bet Julie twenty pounds that if I came round here and asked you nicely, you would give me a summary of your findings so far on James Anderson’s death, even though you might not have had time to do your formal report yet.”
“A fool and his money . . .” smiled Joan.
Ben and Joan knew each other well. Now in her forties, Joan had been in her current role for about ten years. Tall and heavily built, she had a strong presence and a direct manner. She didn’t suffer fools gladly and put fear into many new detective constables. That said, Ben knew she was a consummate professional who knew her stuff and that her heart was always in the right place – so to speak. She did have a sense of humour too, albeit you sometimes had to do some forensic searching to find it.
Ben laughed. “Seriously, Joan, I don’t believe for a minute it was an accidental death, but I do need you to confirm that and give me a quick heads-up on any evidence you have.”
“Okay, Ben, I understand.”
Joan confirmed the death wasn’t accidental. The pathologist had indicated that the force of the blow to the forehead was so great that even if Anderson had tripped and fallen from full height, straight down against the corner of the desk, it wouldn’t have matched his injuries. She also noted there were several blows to the forehead, almost in the same spot exactly – they were difficult to detect, but they were there. Not to mention the bruising on the back of his neck.
“It was as if someone grabbed him from behind and pushed his head against the corner of the desk, then did it again and again,” said Joan.
“As in a fit of rage?” suggested Ben.
“Yes, like that,” continued Joan, “I also felt the way he was lying on the floor didn’t fit with someone who had tripped over his bag, fallen and hit the corner of the desk. We used some new fall simulation software and the output was it would be improbable he would have ended up in a position like he was lying when we found him.”
“Interesting,” said Ben, “I had thought that as well, but had nothing to back it up. Any other key forensic findings so far, Joan?”
“Yes. Looking closely at the fibres on his clothes and on the carpet in the room, it looks like the body was moved – dragged along the carpet – probably to get him into a position that the killer thought would make it look like he had fallen. I assume they then wrapped the straps of the bag around his legs.”
Ben knew that checking fingerprints in a hotel room as the scene of a crime would be difficult. So many people in and out the room over time. Cleaners might remove some, others they will have missed and so on. Unfortunately, none of the fingerprints taken matched any on the police databases, including that of the petty thief they had apprehended.
“As you would expect, there are several tests still to come back, including toxicology. I believe someone suggested the victim had been complaining of being unwell, so we will see what medicines, if any, he had in his system,” said Joan.
“And what about the time of death, Joan? Are you still going with what you suggested: the time on the clock?”
“I can’t be exact, but thereabouts. As you said before, it was hot in that room and the heating was up to the maximum. The cynic in me wonders whether the killer and his amateur forensics knowledge – too much CSI, perhaps – thought that by warming the room as much as possible, it would take longer for the body temperature to drop and thus throw us off the scent. They also wouldn’t know when the body would be found. So, there is a chance it could be a bit earlier. I could do some calculations on different assumptions, but maybe between two-thirty and six would be the best indication of time.”
“Right, Joan, you’ve been a great help. Much appreciated, as always. Send me the formal reports when you have them ready,” said Ben.
* * *
As Ben arrived back at his office, Julie had just arrived back from the hotel.
“How did you get on with Joan?”
“Got the information we need.”
“You sweet-talker, you.”
“I told Joan you’d bet me twenty pounds I wouldn’t get anything from her and if she gave me what I needed I would share my winnings with her.” Ben laughed.
“Yeah, right,” said Julie, not sure how much Ben was kidding.
“Let’s get the team assembled and we’ll see what we’ve got so far,” said Ben.
Ben shared Joan’s findings with the team and concluded by saying, “So let us be clear, this was a brutal killing of James Anderson and the perpetrator tried to cover his tracks and put us off the scent. We owe it to James’s wife and child to make sure the killer doesn’t get away with this.
“The first suspect is Michael Manson. We have no fingerprints or forensics of him being in the room, but his rushing out the door not too long before the body was found seems more than coincidental. Julie, did you get anything on the key card he was using?”
“I spoke to the security manager and he will do an internal investigation into how Manson acquired a key card. But what we do know is that the key card was used to open the victim’s hotel room at 17.43. No more than five or ten minutes or so before Michael was stopped by security at the exit.”
Ben wondered whether the time would be long enough for a struggle to take place, for him to kill James Anderson, move his body, wrap the straps round his legs and run down two flights of stairs. If Manson opened the door and it turned out someone was in the room he thought was empty, you’d think his first reaction would be to turn tail, slam the door shut and run . . . not hang about for a confrontation.
“We need to get exact timings so we can work out for sure what was possible,” said Ben.
“And what about the laptop and phone?”
“Officers did a sweep around the outside of the hotel, checked inside again, including toilets and cupboards. Hotel staff were also advised to keep a look out for them, but so far nothing,” said Kevin.
“And the other items Manson had in his bag, have we traced who they belong to and from which rooms they were taken?” asked Ben.
“Yes, we have, from rooms on different floors, but crucially three from rooms on the same floor as the victim, including a room a couple of doors away from the victim’s room,” answered Julie.
“Okay, let’s assume for a moment it wasn’t Manson – what other thoughts do we have?” asked Ben.
“I would think it would have to be someone known to the victim if they were to get into the room,” said the youngest member of the team, Detective Constable Emma Roy. “Especially if they were standing behind the victim when they killed him, as the forensics suggest.”
Emma was in her late twenties, with short brown hair and was always smartly dressed. She had been with the team for only six months, but Ben had already noticed how sharp she was, how willing to take on any task. There was a slight shyness about her and a caring side, which she didn’t hide, not always obvious in some of the cynical detectives he had seen pass through his team over the years – including Kevin.
“That would suggest one of his colleagues . . . or someone from the hotel staff. Who else would get into the room?” pitched in Kevin.
“That is the most likely scenario,” said Ben. “Where are you with analysing the statements, Kevin?”
Kevin confirmed there was nothing in the statements that showed any staff having being near the room since it was cleaned that morning, prior to James Anderson’s arrival. With regard to the colleagues, the product manager did have a gap in his alibi, when he said he went up to his room during a break in the afternoon sessions. And Pettigrew, the CEO, had already told Ben he went up to see Mr Anderson at around three. The chief finance officer also went to pick something up from his room during the coffee break. However, the hotel was busy and his room was in the annexe to the hotel, which meant going outside to it. It was not part of the main building so he would have been nowhere near James Anderson’s room. Kevin had cross-checked this against the CCTV.
“Okay. What about the victim’s movements during the afternoon?” asked Ben.
“We are still pinning that down,” said Kevin, “Some of the hotel staff who were in yesterday were not on the rota for today, so we will catch them when they are back in tomorrow.”
“Right, let’s sum up and agree actions,” said Ben.
“Julie, you and I will go down and interview Manson. After that we’ll go and see Mrs Anderson and then head to the offices of Trade-IT.
“Kevin, I want you to dig up as much information as you can on all of James Anderson’s colleagues who were at the hotel, as well as the company itself, including all the financial checks. We need to be thinking about motive here. Carry on with piecing together James’s movements at the hotel and chase up the phone records to see if he made any calls yesterday.”
* * *
Ben and Julie entered interview room three. Michael Manson and his solicitor, Mr Evans, were there. Julie started the recording and did the formalities.
“Well, Mr Manson, that was quite a haul of stolen goods we found in the bag you had in your possession when you were stopped by hotel security,” said Ben.
“I explained already it wasn’t my bag. I have one very similar and I must have lifted someone else’s bag by mistake when I was in the bar earlier,” replied Manson.
“Really?” replied Ben. “And what about the things we found in the boot of your car outside the hotel?”
“Don’t know anything about that, there was nothing in the boot of my car when I left it,” Manson persisted.
“What did you do with the things you took from room 202?” asked Julie, always direct and one to cut to the chase.
“I was never in room 202,” replied Manson, tapping his fingers nervously on the table.
“I think forensics will show differently,” suggested Julie.
“No, they won’t,” replied Manson, sounding strangely confident.
Probably because he had gloves on, thought Julie.
“Right, Mr Manson, time to get serious.” said Ben. “You were stopped by hotel security rushing towards the hotel exit carrying a bag full of electronic devices stolen from guest bedrooms. Not too long afterwards, another guest found the door of room 202 open. Now here’s the kicker!” said Ben, leaning forward towards Manson. “Not only did the other guest find the door open, they found a man lying on the floor. Dead! With signs of a struggle. What do you say to that?”
“No way,” shouted Manson, “I was nowhere near room 202.”
He continued tapping his fingers, more vigorously now.
“You have no evidence whatsoever against my client for such an outrageous charge,” added the solicitor.
“Okay, I hold my hands up to the theft from the other rooms, but not 202, I was never there,” admitted Manson.
“Really? Then how do you explain the fact that the key card found in your possession shows a record of having been used to open room 202?” said Ben.
