Ruby took the wheel of the grey Ford Focus to enable Downes to speak to officers over his police radio. She had left her team setting the wheels of investigation turning.
‘What have we got?’ Ruby said as she negotiated a shortcut to the scene of the crime.
‘It’s a domestic murder by the sound of it. Neighbours called it in, saying they heard a couple arguing. Uniform have just got there and confirmed a body at the scene.’
‘Husband and wife?’ Ruby said.
‘Seems that way, although there’s no sign of the missus now.’
‘She’s probably panicked and ran off. Sounds pretty straightforward. Why are we dealing with it?’
‘The other teams are up to their necks in it. We haven’t had any homicides on our patch in a couple of days so… ’
‘Any intelligence on the couple?’
‘Her name is Emily Edmonds, married to Harry Edmonds. His identity has been confirmed, and neither is known to us. He owns a café on Well Street.’
‘That must be Harry’s Café, the one across from Lidl. There’s a few of them dotted about the place.’
Downes tapped his palms against his lap in a restless drumbeat. ‘This is all I fecking need,’ he muttered. ‘If this involves a local businessman, Worrow will be crawling over it like a fly on shite.’
Ruby nodded emphatically. She used to get on with the Chief, but lately she had borne the brunt of her temper on more than one occasion. Sloppy workforce, disgusting conditions, and what was the last one? Oh yes, insubordination. There had been times when she wondered if her superior was in possession of a pair of balls. You had to be to reach promotion at Worrow’s tender age. Ruby’s knuckles whitened over the steering wheel. Their office might not smell of pot-pourri, but they were real coppers and they got things done. She took a deep calming breath through her nostrils and exhaled slowly as she parked up behind a police car.
The red-brick townhouse on Tresham Walk looked nothing out of the ordinary, but given its location in London, the three-bedroom abode on the quiet residential street could fetch three quarters of a million pounds on the property market. Her own recent property search had proved fruitless, and the thought of spending another year in her hovel of a flat was too depressing to face. She noticed the blinds twitch next door and smiled. Nosey neighbours were welcome, particularly in domestic murders. She listened as DI Downes received updates via his police radio. Intelligence stated there had been previous calls by concerned neighbours. Mr Edmonds had told attending officers that he was a member of the local dramatics group and had been practising his lines. Ruby rolled her eyes. Amateur dramatics indeed.
The scene guard officer dished out white oversuits and gloves at the gate, quickly jotting down their names before allowing them inside. Ruby slid a hairband from her wrist and scooped up her long dark tresses into a ponytail. Crime scene investigators were en route, and she zipped up the front of her bunny suit, keeping her eyes sharply tuned for evidence.
Slowly, she walked through the front door, admiring the small crystal chandelier as it reflected spots of light on the magnolia walls. Apart from the recent threads of police boots on the thick oatmeal carpet, the hall was spotlessly clean. The scent of lilies intermingled with a blast of warm air wafting in from outside, and she brushed past the table in the hall, avoiding the pollen-ripe stamens. The body was fresh, which was just as well given the recent spate of hot weather. At least she was spared the acrid, cheesy smell of decay. She had visited many murder scenes where the victims had been in various stages of decomposition. The dead did not bother her. It was the living that played on her mind. Ruby pushed down on the bronze door handle with the tips of her gloved fingers as she entered the living room. The crime scene investigators would not be best pleased she had beaten them to it, but the ‘golden hour’ was so called for a reason. Downes strode purposefully past her to the body, his tweed jacket swishing inside the paper-thin suit. He surveyed the blood splatters on the wall, while Ruby held her ground, taking in the scene. She briefly closed her eyes, allowing her senses to do the work. She could smell antiseptic, hear more than one ticking clock. A trickle of sweat ran down the curve of her back. She glanced around the room, storing the images to her memory bank. An upturned coffee table, a broken ornament; the disturbance was small but spoke volumes.
Lastly, she turned her attention to the body. The stocky man was face down on the floor, producing enough blood to soak through the surrounding carpet and dribble onto the linoleum through the open kitchen door. His short auburn hair was combed back at the sides, and a wedding ring graced the finger of his left hand. A splatter of crimson laced a copper bracelet, and his once blue shirt was now drenched in blood. Ruby cast her eyes over the puncture wound between his shoulder blades.
‘See his hands?’ DI Downes said as he stepped over the blood that was now congealing into jellied bubbles.
Ruby nodded. She had already noticed his clenched right fist. His left hand was gripped tightly around a black cordless phone.
‘He didn’t put his hands out in front of him as he fell. It’s an automatic reaction. The fact his fists are clenched and by his sides suggest he could have had some seizure or heart attack on the way down. That’s why his face took the brunt of the fall.’
Ruby frowned. ‘Why would she stab him if he was going to cop it anyway? Surely it would have been better to leave him to die?’
DI Downes snorted. ‘Ach, you know what domestic murders are like; they’re rarely from a logical standpoint.’
Ruby felt a sneeze coming on and turned away as she pinched the bridge of her nose. It reminded her of the crime scene she’d brought Luddy to, the year before, when he forgot to wear a mask, and he had sneezed all over the body. His desk was covered in Kleenex for weeks afterwards by his colleagues. She held in the expulsion, sniffling, as she regained her composure.
She took in the inoffensive room. It was spotlessly clean; no alcohol that she could see; nothing to relay drugs were a factor either. Ruby surveyed the photos hanging on the wall. A much younger Harry Edmonds smiled for the camera with a small mousey woman on his arm. She looked more like his daughter than his wife, but the wedding photos erased any doubt from Ruby’s mind. There were no recent pictures to speak of, and no evidence of children or pets. She tiptoed past the body to the kitchen. It could have passed for a show home. The knife block resting on the counter was full. She opened the cupboards to see every tin was facing the same way, perfectly tidy and not a crumb out of place. A slight hint of lemon cleaner lingered in the air. It made a change from the usual crime scene, where you wiped your feet on the way out.
‘I’m not happy about this scene,’ Ruby said, crossing her ankles as she leaned against the doorframe, ‘it’s all too perfect.’ She caught a glimpse of silver as DI Downes slid his hip flask back into his suit pocket. She waved away his offer of a mint before he sheepishly popped one into his mouth.
‘Only you could complain about being given a suspect on a plate,’ he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
Outside, a chorus of voices followed by the sound of van doors slamming indicated that CSI were here.
‘I should have known you’d be trampling all over my scene,’ the husky voice of Bones greeted DI Downes. The stocky dreadlocked black man was nicknamed such because of the model of a human skeleton taking up residence in his office. Ruby had once overheard him talking to it and had never allowed him to live it down.
‘And your partner in crime here as well! Ruby, made a start in the kitchen too?’
Ruby had the decency to look embarrassed. She knew how territorial Bones could get about his precious crime scenes. ‘Sorry. We haven’t been upstairs.’
Bones shrugged, watching, as his colleagues lay down the stepping plates. ‘No matter. One of the neighbours saw his missus get a taxi last night, and she was carrying an overnight bag. Prima facie by the sounds of it.’
Prima facie. Open and shut case. The concept held no weight with Ruby. She narrowed her eyes in defiance. ‘Don’t use those swear words with me, Bones.’
Bones grinned, making a fishing rod gesture with his hands. He had reeled her in once again. Ruby snorted before leaving the building, glad to step out of the paper suit that was making her sweat. A crowd was gathering behind the police tape, and she pushed through them to the car. It was time to get back to the nick. She had that uneasy feeling in her gut. Her innate voice that whispered whenever all was not as it seemed.
Just where was the murder weapon that killed Harry Edmonds?
And more to the point: where was his wife?