Twelve

Autopsies were a fact of life for any police detective, as commonplace as the ubiquitous bad coffee and bureaucratic jumbles of paperwork that plagued all investigations. Inspector Gordon Murray had seen dozens of corpses posed in the standard anatomical position awaiting the first cut of the Y incision to determine the precise cause of their deaths. Still, one never really got used it. Dr. Charles Hanson, one of the best coroners in London, had taken the Burke case, and Murray knew from experience he would be thorough. Though he didn’t always personally inspect the body, something about this case troubled him more than usual. He left his office and knocked on the open door shortly after Hanson had finished.

“Photos and stats over there,” Hanson said, tipping his head toward the desk before continuing to scribble his notes. Most people used computers these days, but Hanson was of an age that would not give in to the inconvenience of learning modern customs, no matter how commonplace they had become.

Murray walked over and gave the file a cursory look. Well-developed Caucasian female. Weight, 8.02 stone; Height, 63 inches; Body Marks: one tattoo above left ankle, one 3 cm birthmark on right buttock. Fixed Rigor Mortis.

He put down the file and turned back to the body. It was his second look at Tamsyn Burke, and what a difference twenty-four hours made. A day ago, there had still been some color in her face, and she could have passed for being unconscious. Now, however, she was as gray as if she had been dead for years. He looked at her auburn hair, which had been pulled back. It must have been quite striking with her pale complexion when she was alive. Murray walked up to the table and took a closer look. Occasionally, victims looked younger in death than they even had alive, and this one most certainly did. She had been petite, and no match for her killer. Her hands had been quite beautiful, with long pianists’ fingers, small knuckles, and well-maintained nails. She had probably held them up in the days and weeks preceding the marriage and imagined her wedding band sparkling like the Hope Diamond, and looked forward to showing it off to her friends. He sighed, thinking of her parents’ grief. As long as he lived, he would never understand what possessed someone to take another human life, particularly the life of an innocent like her. No matter who she was or what she may have done, she was still but a girl who needed love and protection. The sight of her decaying corpse angered him to the core.

“Only one stab wound, I see,” he said, looking at the point of entry.

“That’s right,” the coroner answered, putting down his clipboard. “He got her in one thrust.”

“At precisely the right angle to end her life.”

“That’s correct. The weapon went through the skin and the subcutaneous tissue, and between the left fifth and sixth rib straight into the left ventricle. The cause of death was hemorrhage from the stab wound.”

“Damn the luck. A little left or right and she might have lived.”

“Damn the luck is right. She also had a few contusions on her hands, defense wounds. She had mere seconds to react. Not long enough to stop the thrust of the knife. It’s a simple wound, really. The perpetrator knew precisely where he could cause the most damage.”

“So you believe the killer is a man?”

“Not necessarily. I use the word ‘he’ in a theoretical sense. Due to the close proximity of the killer, anyone could have done it had they known what they wanted to do. Surprise, not force, was the main element in this murder.”

“Reinforcing the concept that she knew the murderer.”

“It had to be someone she trusted.”

“Presumably,” Murray said, more to himself than to Hanson, “every one of the twenty-seven people in that wing was someone she trusted. Only the immediate circle had been admitted to that part of the Abbey.”

“I don’t envy you that,” Hanson said, setting his pen on the counter and closing the file. “All I have to do is find the cause of death. The reason for it is a different matter altogether.”

Murray thanked him and left the office, deep in thought. The key to solving this murder was to understand the victim. Who precisely was Tamsyn Burke? Did people like her or not? Did she incite feelings of jealousy or hatred in the people she knew?

Murray himself was accustomed to being hated. One couldn’t be a Detective Chief Inspector without it, he supposed, considering the type of people one had to deal with. Suspects hated the police when they were guilty, and even more so when they were innocent. Half of his subordinates were envious of his position. The public viewed the police as a necessary evil, sometimes fearing them as much as the criminals they caught.

During the course of a murder inquiry, most people, even mere witnesses, were afraid to talk in case they implicated themselves. It seemed that everyone had secrets. This case would undoubtedly prove no different, particularly because several had ties to the film industry.

Back in his office, Murray turned his attention to the reputation of the famous stage and screen actor, Noel Ashley-Hunt. He had actually seen him once in Much Ado About Nothing in the role of Leonato at the Old Vic, but when he had met him at Westminster Abbey, he couldn’t imagine anyone less suited to play a comedy. Ashley-Hunt was a professional who took his life and career seriously. According to his résumé, he had acted with the Royal Shakespeare Company and won a number of awards, including a Tony for his portrayal of Don Quixote in Man of La Mancha in New York, but it wasn’t until a series of popular instamatic camera commercials in the ’70s that his face became recognizable in every home in England. He was known for many years for his boyish good looks, and while he had aggressively gone after but not gotten the role of James Bond, he’d played similar playboy types in both American and British films. As he matured, he took on heavier roles in World War II pictures and other epic films, once playing the dual roles of George V and his look-alike cousin, Nicholas II, in a landmark mini-series, which solidified the English love affair with the handsome actor.

Through several newspaper articles, Murray discovered that Ashley-Hunt had been born in Yorkshire to a poor family. His mother, Mary Alice, had left his father when Noel was seven, taking the child with her to London where she sought a life on the stage. She had very modest success; she was employed enough to keep food on the table, yet never became a star. Instead of discouraging the young Ashley-Hunt, this whetted his appetite for fame. He was raised behind the scenes and had been coddled by the actresses his mother knew. He was accepted by the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art at twenty and began to carefully craft a career, one of solid roles and an excellent reputation.

At thirty, he had married a cousin of the royal family, Caroline Montgomery, and from all accounts it was a serious love match. The beautiful Mrs. Ashley-Hunt, a tall, blonde society girl, was a favorite of the tabloid photographers, even more so after marrying the dashing actor. She suffered three miscarriages before giving birth to Hugh, whose birth was heralded like royalty in the London newspapers.

When his career was established, Ashley-Hunt became a philanthropist, giving generously to various charities as well as to the British Museum. There was talk that he was soon to be awarded an Order of the British Empire, thus giving him a title as well as his wife. On paper, he was formidable; in person, even more so.

Murray looked at his watch. It was one thirty. He had a two o’clock appointment with Noel Ashley-Hunt to discuss Tamsyn Burke’s murder. He picked up the phone and dialed Ennis’s extension.

His sergeant picked up on the first ring. “Yes, boss?”

“I have an interview in half an hour.”

“I’ll bring the car around, sir.”

“Thank you.” Murray replaced the receiver on the telephone and stood, pulling on his coat. He wasn’t star-struck like most people. Men like Ashley-Hunt did not intimidate him in the least. The actor might have a distinguished reputation, but in a murder investigation he was no better or worse than anyone else. Apart from the Queen, he knew of few individuals who were better than his peers. Murray often thought if he hadn’t been such a monarchist and a political conservative, he would have made a fine democrat.

Outside, it was raining, and he unfolded his umbrella as he waited for Ennis to bring round the car. It was typical May weather; sunny and warm one day, cool and drizzly the next. Today, it felt more like March than May. Rivulets of rain dripped from the nylon, and he shook it vigorously when Ennis pulled up. He slid into the passenger seat.

“The Ashley-Hunts, sir?” Ennis asked before he had a chance to tell him. Sometimes he wondered if his sergeant was clairvoyant.

“That’s right. We’ve an appointment with the father, but I plan to have a word with the son as well. I want to talk to him about the death threat he received.”

“I’ve got IT working on the link to the source, sir. So far, all we know is that the email account was established two months ago on one of those free webmail sites. It’ll take some tracking to see if we can find who opened the account.”

Ennis went silent, focusing on the traffic while Murray considered the case. Twenty-seven people were on the suspect list; all family, friends, or acquaintances. No one else had been seen apart from in the public areas, where guards protected the artifacts. Even though none of the twenty-seven suspects had serious criminal records or a history that pointed to murder, the killer was certainly among their number. Someone had gotten close enough to stab Tamsyn Burke without alerting her to danger.

Motive, method, and opportunity, he thought; the three factors one had to identify in every case. The method, of course, was obvious: stabbing with an ordinary knife, the likes of which was sold at Marks and Spencer and virtually dozens of other shops that traded in kitchen wares. The opportunity had presented itself in the minutes preceding the ceremony that had been about to take place. That left the infinitely more difficult part of the equation: motive. Some clue would make itself known if he looked hard enough. He pointed as Ennis pulled into Edgemore Street.

“Just there.”

Ennis pulled the car up to the curb and they opened their umbrellas against the rain. The sun was obscured by dark, charcoal clouds, and a ripple of thunder could be heard in the distance. Two men stood discreetly on either side of the door, as innocuous as the gendarmes outside the Palace Elysée in Paris. The first time he had seen them, Murray hadn’t even realized he was passing the residence of the President of France until the cab driver mentioned it. At the moment, he was pleased to see that Ashley-Hunt had taken the threat seriously and provided a security detail for his son’s benefit.

The door of the house opened as he and Ennis approached, and they were ushered inside by a housekeeper. They sheathed their umbrellas in a stand and were shown into the study where Noel Ashley-Hunt was waiting.

“Inspector Murray, won’t you come in?” Ashley-Hunt said, looking up from his desk.

“Thank you for seeing us today,” Murray answered. “Will your wife be joining us?”

The man gave an apologetic smile. “Unfortunately, Caroline is organizing flowers for the funeral.”

Murray knew that powerful men like Ashley-Hunt began difficult interviews with a false cordiality; in fact, the more cordial the greeting, the nastier the conclusion was likely to be. Ashley-Hunt stood and went over to the fireplace. Murray noted it had just been lit. The logs showed little sign of ash, and the room was still cool. Ashley-Hunt had set the stage in order to control the situation.

He waved them to a pair of club chairs and went to perch on the edge of his mahogany desk, crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his arms.

He’s impatient, Murray thought. Good. He took out a notebook, which he did not open, and a pen.

“How long have you known Tamsyn Burke?” Murray asked, studying Ashley-Hunt’s face for any change in expression. There was none, of course.

“My wife and I met her for the first time at Christmas.”

“Here in London?”

“At our country house in Gloucestershire.”

“And when did your son meet her?”

“They met when Hugh began filming Under the Greenwood Tree several months ago. She was working as an extra and Hugh persuaded Sir John Hodges to consider her for the lead.”

“Did your son often recommend people for parts in his films?”

“Of course not.”

Murray sat back in his chair and folded his hands on top of his notebook. “Can you tell me what you thought of Miss Burke when you met for the first time?”

“Hugh occasionally brought friends to the house. It was not unusual. I didn’t think much about it.”

“But you must have known that she was more than a friend if he brought her at Christmas, am I right, sir? Had he ever brought home a girl for Christmas before?”

“I don’t recall. I am not in the habit of cataloguing my son’s friends.”

“Surely a father would remember his son bringing home a serious girlfriend for the holidays.”

Ashley-Hunt’s brow creased into a frown. “Then, no, I don’t suppose he ever had.”

“Did you get the impression at the time that they were serious about their relationship?”

“They showed signs of being in a relationship, but I never expect these things to last. Certainly not at his age.”

“What was her behavior toward the family?”

“She was polite enough.”

“I understand she was quite different from your son, from her upbringing to her recent life.”

“Yes, she was a different sort of girl.”

“Not exactly the sort you’d choose for him yourself, then?”

“Where are you going with this, Inspector?” Ashley-Hunt growled. He stood up and walked around to sit in the chair behind the desk.

“I’m just trying to determine if you and your wife approved of Miss Burke.”

“What difference would it make? Young people date whomever they wish these days.”

“But for the record, you did not approve of her?”

“No,” he admitted. “She wasn’t the sort of girl we wanted him to see. Frankly, she was beneath him.”

Murray looked at the French doors over Ashley-Hunt’s left shoulder, remembering what he had read about the man’s own humble beginnings. It was hypocritical, to say the least. The velvet curtains were opened and he watched the torrents of rain beating against the pane. “When did they become engaged?” he asked.

“In February.”

“That’s short notice for a wedding at Westminster Abbey,” he remarked.

“My wife is a member of the royal family,” Ashley-Hunt said. “But it was still difficult to secure the location. I had to call in a few favors.”

“Twelve weeks,” Murray counted. “So many details. The dress, the caterers. Who made most of the arrangements?”

“She did.” Ashley-Hunt had not once used his wife’s name, Murray noticed. “With my credit cards, of course.”

“Who decided to have the wedding at the Abbey?”

“We did. They would have gotten married anywhere, Trafalgar Square, Regent’s Park, a Register Office. I don’t think either of them cared, and as long as they didn’t, we preferred that they do it right.”

“Of course.” Murray opened the notebook at last and jotted a few scrawling lines across the page before closing it. Would Ashley-Hunt have gone to the trouble of securing Westminster Abbey if he had wanted to kill the girl? he wondered. “Did you see them often during the engagement?”

Ashley-Hunt shook his head. “We’re both busy men. We met occasionally for dinner.”

“Would you say you grew fond of Miss Burke during that time?”

The man’s face turned to stone. “We really didn’t know her that well. She spoke little when we did see her. I suppose she was minding her p’s and q’s.”

“Do you have any idea who might have wanted her dead?”

“Until the day of the wedding, I had never met any of her family or friends. I have no idea who could have done such a thing.”

“Did you speak to her on the day of the wedding?”

“No, I did not.”

“I understand you were in the area where she was getting ready. You were seen coming down the hall approximately fifteen minutes before the body was found.”

“Are you suggesting I had something to do with it?” Ashley-Hunt demanded, rising from his chair. “I’ll admit I didn’t particularly like the girl. I didn’t see her as a suitable wife for my son, but things have a way of taking care of themselves. If she was as unsuitable as I believed her to be, the marriage would have dissolved within a few months. As a matter of fact, I’m sure it would have. She lacked the essential qualities that would have suited Hugh for a long-term relationship.”

“Did you ever say as much to your son?”

Ashley-Hunt’s mouth hardened to a thin line. “I’ve learned that one can give advice but it is rarely taken. The older you get, the more you have to regret. I did not wish to add my son’s ire to that particular list.”

“Did you see anyone acting suspiciously that morning?”

“Not that I recall.”

Murray tucked the notebook into his coat and stood. “I understand the funeral is also to be held at Westminster Abbey. Who decided to have it there?”

“The use of it was offered in light of the circumstances.”

“That was most kind, I’m sure.” Murray took a card from his pocket. “If you think of anything else, you can ring me at this number.”

“I’m sure I’ve told you everything I know. I think the police should be out looking for real leads instead of bothering the family at a time like this.”

“Unfortunately, in a crime of this nature, no one is exempt from scrutiny, Mr. Ashley-Hunt.” Murray paused for a moment. “I’d like to have a brief word with your son while I’m here.”

“He’s home, of course,” Ashley-Hunt said, “but I thought it best he not join us for this meeting. I don’t want to distress him further. I’m sure you understand.”

“As a matter of fact, he may need to talk about it. I’m sure he is anxious to see the killer identified as quickly as possible.”

“Of course he is. We all are,” Ashley-Hunt snapped. “But he’s distraught. Anyone can see it’s a bad time.”

“There’s never a good time to talk to someone during a murder investigation, sir,” Murray said, tapping the arm of the chair. “Like anyone who was present, he may have seen something inadvertently without realizing a connection, something that might have bearing on the case.”

Ashley-Hunt didn’t move for a few seconds, and then with a loud sigh left the room in search of his son.

“What do you think, sir?” Ennis asked in a low voice, his eye on the door in case Ashley-Hunt made a sudden return.

“I don’t care for the man, but I don’t believe he’s involved in the girl’s death. It obviously was premeditated murder, and you can’t convince me he would have hired the greatest church in Christendom as a place to kill a future daughter-in-law. A man like that wouldn’t want the publicity, would he?”

“But wouldn’t publicity be good for an actor’s prospects?”

“Not for a man like Ashley-Hunt. He’s already established. He seems like a man who would avoid controversy rather than create it.”

They heard footsteps in the hall and waited for Hugh to come into the room. Murray was curious to see him again. They certainly were intriguing, these young actors. Hugh was already successful, even at his age. He could afford to marry someone for love rather than merely to please his parents, if he so chose. Not all young men could say the same.

Hugh came into the room and walked straight to Murray, who stood and shook his hand. “You wanted to see me, sir?” he asked. His face was drawn and his complexion naturally pale. He looked tired, as if sleep had eluded him since Tamsyn’s death.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Murray said. He glanced at the door to be certain that the young man’s father hadn’t followed him into the room.

Hugh noticed and nodded. “I told him I didn’t mind talking to you. Have you found out anything? Have you got any leads?”

“No,” Murray answered. “But we will. By the way, do you happen to have her mobile?”

“No,” Hugh said, looking surprised. “I thought you had it.”

They each found a seat and Murray continued. “Tell me what you remember about that last hour.”

Hugh looked at Ennis and then back at Murray before taking a deep breath. “I was in the chapel for quite a while. I was nervous, you see. We probably should have run off together, but my parents wanted a ‘real’ wedding, and we didn’t want to disappoint them. It’s fairly intimidating to stand in the middle of Westminster Abbey and realize you’re about to get married in the same spot where kings tie the knot.”

“Had you seen Tamsyn earlier in the day?”

“No, she stayed at a friend’s the night before. I thought it was a little absurd, because we were already living together, but she wanted to do it right.”

He struggled to maintain his composure. Murray gave him a moment before he asked the next question.

“Did you speak to anyone while you were in the chapel?”

“One of the assistants came in and spoke to me about the music, and then I was alone for a while until Daniel came in.”

“You’re good friends, if I’m not mistaken.”

“He’s like a brother to me. He came to make sure I was all right. He’d seen Tamsyn a few minutes before and said … he said she looked beautiful and she was anxious for the ceremony to get started, like I was.”

“And then what happened?”

“Daniel told me that my father was looking for me. He probably wanted to give me some parting word of encouragement or something, but I couldn’t find him. It’s hard to find your way around the place. I ran into that old friend of Tam’s, Monaghan I think it is, and then I heard a scream. I really don’t remember anything after that.”

“Did you speak to Monaghan?”

“No. I’ve only been introduced to him once.”

“Have you had any thoughts about who might have sent the death threat?”

Hugh shook his head. “None at all, sir. I’ve racked my brain since this happened. I can’t think of a single person who would have threatened either one of us. If you knew Tam, you’d know what I mean. She had such a good heart.”

Murray nodded. “Thank you for talking with me. I’m sorry to have troubled you. It’s just important for us to know everything that happened that day so we can get to the bottom of it.”

“I understand,” Hugh replied.

Murray could tell that Hugh was the opposite of his father in terms of personality: he was someone who easily related to others. “If you think of anything, ring me at once,” he added, standing. He shook hands with Hugh once again.

In the hall, he and Ennis were given their umbrellas and stepped outside into the rain, which had not abated during the brief conversation. They hurried out to the car.

Ennis turned up the heat, while Murray wished for a cup of tea. As the car pulled away from the curb, he looked up at the house, where his eye caught the flutter of a curtain up on the first floor. It was Noel Ashley-Hunt, frowning down at them from his study.

“I’m anxious to see who turns up for the funeral,” Murray said, turning to his sergeant.

“You don’t think the killer will be there, do you?” Ennis asked, surprised.

“He’ll have to be,” the inspector replied. “Otherwise, he’s implicating himself in her murder.”