Leo
Leo sent a request down to records for a list of like crimes from the database before getting up to stretch. Looking around him, he noted that the incident room was humming with activity as the murder enquiry got under way. In these days of mobile policing, it was never the same station used for an enquiry, just where there was space for the team in the district. This time room had been found at the Kidlington HQ as the brass wanted to keep a close eye on proceedings. Great: the senior officers would be breathing down his neck. Just what he needed.
He brushed his fingers over his desk plant, checking the soil for dampness. It was fine for now. The bonsai, one of the first things he’d carried in from his car on top of a pile of files, was his sign to the team that he considered they had moved in and he expected it to be for some duration.
Leo would have been efficient in any case, even without the eyes of his bosses on him. He had already made sure his officers were fully briefed as they came on duty, the murder board with its timeline set up, and the search teams combing the rain-washed banks of the Cherwell, park and surrounding roads. Superintendent Thaxted had come in early for a full rundown of the situation and offered to inform the head of Kenneth Kingston’s college once the family had been told. That grim duty Leo had already performed with Sergeant Boston at one in the morning – a bleak memory to add to the many bad nights he’d had as a policeman.
An email came into his inbox. Forensics weren’t happy. The storm had blown through Oxford as forecast so that made trace evidence unlikely, and the body had been touched by Jess Bridges in her attempt to give first aid. A fuck-up but there was little anyone could do against Good Samaritans and nature. It was now midday and Leo hadn’t slept, but he counted himself fortunate that he’d had the chance to go home and change mid-morning. Having flirted a few years ago with becoming the cliché of the policeman with a terrible diet and alcohol problem, he’d made sure he spent ten minutes over a late breakfast, granola and fruit, washed down with green tea. He only had to look around the office to see the health problems that could be his in the near future if now, in his mid-thirties, he slipped back into bad habits.
Leo’s colleagues, at least the ones like Harry, considered him a ‘wuss with fancy habits’. His defence? He wanted to live. He wasn’t telling them that he’d only just survived his teens, thanks to some poor choices and worse parenting. Instead, he let his charge to conviction rate speak for itself – and the fact that he didn’t get breathless if pursuing an offender. Everyone got mocked for something in CID. Some of the older ones probably thought him homosexual because they couldn’t imagine a straight man acting as he did, taking care over his appearance and diet. Harry had even insinuated it to his face a couple of times, expecting Leo to be insulted. His expectations had not been met.
Not that it mattered, but he wasn’t gay, as his reaction to the witness last night had made plain. He couldn’t carry on a conversation with Jessica Bridges, ‘small, blonde and built’ as Harry so helpfully put it in his verbal report to the squad, while she clutched the Oxford Mail to her chest. She needed more than mail; she needed a full set of armour to stop unprofessional thoughts edging into his questioning. So he’d left her to get dressed in scrubs before embarking on an interview. It was as well that he’d done so because it had given him time to look her up and discover this hadn’t been her first time as a witness in a murder enquiry. The mishandling of the Jacob West case by the Met had been enjoyed by all rival police forces eager to see the big boys fall. It had been fresh in Leo’s mind as he’d actually met one of the victims, the psychologist Michael Harrison, at Hendon training college a few months ago. Superintendent Thaxted would not want her division to repeat any of those errors.
Stifling yawns, Leo assumed the noon report. The boss would want another update for the lunchtime newscycle.
‘Come in, Leo. I hope you got some rest?’ Superintendent Claire Thaxted was a slim woman with ash blonde hair well cut in a bob around a long, slightly gaunt face. She did triathlons for fun, which said everything you needed to know about her. Leo had gone running with her when they were on a senior officers’ course and he’d had to pull out his best game to keep up.
‘Not yet, ma’am. We’ve not had much luck with our searches this morning thanks to the storm that hit in the night. SOCO aren’t getting much from the riverbanks. Fortunately, we were able to lift the punt off the river before the rain. They’re going over that now but it looks like a college boat, available to everyone at Linton to hire, including conference visitors. DNA swabs will be basically useless unless we’re very lucky. I’m pulling like crimes but it’s too early to generate a list of suspects.’
‘And the victim? What have we found out about him?’
‘Kenneth Kingston. Forty-two. Former city financial wizard who took a job as bursar at Linton with resulting pay cut so he could spend more time with his young family. Worked four days out of five to do his share of childcare. Universally liked and admired.’
She tapped the blotter on her desk with her reading glasses case. ‘Evidently not, as someone murdered him.’
Leo disagreed, as often people killed the ones they loved, but he left that thought unspoken. ‘His wife couldn’t think of anyone who held anything against him – not at work, not in his old employment, not in his private life. We’ll check that but, from the early enquiries we’ve made, he’s something of a local hero, volunteering for the local food bank in his spare time.’
‘Spare time? That must be nice.’ Thaxted got up and walked to her window which had the view of the gardens of the neighbouring estate. ‘The family?’
‘I left a victim support officer with them and have a constable on the door to keep the press away. Mrs Kingston appears to be alibied – at home with the children, putting them to bed.’
‘And did Mrs Kingston have any idea why her husband was found naked in a punt?’
‘No. They’d had a normal day – church, lunch with friends, a walk in Shotover country park and then he got a call. That wasn’t unusual and she didn’t ask for details. He just said it was some problem with the crew that’s filming at Linton College this summer. He didn’t think he’d be long.’
‘His phone?’
‘Not yet recovered.’
‘You’re going to the college, I assume?’
‘Yes, ma’am. That’s my next stop.’
‘Tread carefully. The Master of the college is Norman Wiseman, former head of the Police Complaints Authority. I’ve rung him already to tell him about Kingston. He was audibly shocked and says you can expect full cooperation from all his staff.’
Her concerns that this must be handled sensitively made even more sense. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I need better than best, Leo. I need perfect.’
It was rather a relief to find Harry hadn’t yet made it in so Leo didn’t have to tell him that he was taking DS Suyin Wong with him to the college. She was a highly competent young officer who had been tipped for the fast track; in fact, Leo could sense her nipping at his heels as they shared many of the same strengths. He could trust her not to put a foot wrong at Linton.
He brought her up to date as she drove down the Banbury Road. The houses got progressively larger and more expensive the closer they were to the centre of Oxford. Many of the Victorian mansions had become colleges, institutes or private schools. Their gardens were beautifully kept, croquet lawn standard, with lush borders bobbing with summer flowers. Perhaps they were too perfect, mused Leo, too much money spent on immaculate presentation, suggesting a professional team of gardeners, rather than the old style don taking a breather from his studies to deadhead his roses. Oxford was losing some of its charm to the influx of serious money.
‘Saintly man ends up naked and dead: the papers are going to love that,’ Suyin said acerbically when he’d finished profiling the victim for her.
‘So far there’s no hint of anything sexual in the crime.’
‘But you have to go there, don’t you, considering?’
‘Let’s just go there with an open mind, sergeant.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She turned into the residential street leading to the castle-like entranceway to the college. The Oxford undergraduates were away for the summer and had been replaced by flocks of language learners and conference goers. Linton was experiencing a different summer from the usual, as they had attracted a film company and were currently pretending to be living in the 1920s. The vintage Rolls Royce parked on the forecourt, women in flapper dresses and men in Oxford bags and blazers, made the illusion almost complete, if it weren’t for the scaffolding holding the lights. They parked on a side road rather than risk getting entangled in that business.
‘One of our witnesses is from this college, isn’t he?’ said Suyin.
‘Yes, a don and a celebrity author. He’s near the top of the list of people we want to talk to, but first I think we should tackle the porters and Dr Kingston’s office.’
‘Which one do you want to do, sir?’
‘I’ll do the porters. Let’s get the key for the office from them. We need his mobile.’
‘You think they already know he’s dead?’
Leo glanced at her, surprised she’d even had to ask. ‘Suyin, this is an Oxford college, and the university is a very small world. Everyone knows everything within five minutes of it happening.’
They entered into the lodge under the archway. A man who had the unmistakable bearing of a head porter, which Leo thought of as Mein Host crossed with Rottweiler, came to greet them. His stomach was straining against his mustard waistcoat under his black jacket. He was not in costume, but he might as well have been as porters had not updated their image since the nineteenth century.
‘Can I help you?’
Leo held out his badge. ‘DI George, DS Wong. Do you know why we are here, sir?’
‘I do, Inspector. It’s about poor Dr Kingston. I’ve been instructed by the Master to make sure the college offers every assistance. I’m the Head Porter, Robert Field.’
That made things a little smoother. ‘Mr Field, my colleague would like to see Dr Kingston’s rooms in college and I have some questions for the porter on duty last night.’
‘That would be me.’
‘Is that right?’ Leo hadn’t expected the top man to pull the Sunday night shift.
‘They were filming.’
Now it made sense. He didn’t seem the sort to risk leaving such important matters to an underling.
Field cleared his throat. ‘I had a cameo.’
Crystal clear.
He turned quickly away from Leo. It was too frivolous a topic to be dwelt on when a member of college had just been murdered. ‘Bernard, please take the young lady up to Dr Kingston’s rooms.’
‘Right away, sir.’ Another porter came forward and selected a key from a hook on the wall.
‘Is that the only key?’ Leo asked.
‘Dr Kingston had a set, of course. And the cleaners,’ said Field.
‘So no.’ Leo gave the nod to his sergeant and Suyin followed the porter out and across the quad, leaving him with Mr Field.
‘Is there a place we can talk in private?’ he asked. Outside a bus delivered a new batch of extras to the forecourt. They spilled like streamers from a party popper when the front door opened. A lighting crew, an older man with a young red-headed assistant, set up a bank of lights near the Rolls. A couple of sound technicians, one male, one female, rigged some microphones. ‘What’s the film?’
The Head Porter frowned. ‘We’re not to say.’
‘Right.’
‘To protect the stars.’
‘Understandable.’ Leo was guessing an Agatha Christie – the period felt about right.
‘Very big names. They won’t want any association with any of this.’
His attitude was irritating but Leo remembered his lecture on sensitive handling. ‘Then we’ll try and be in and out of here as quickly as possible then.’
The porter jingled the keys at his belt a little nervously. ‘Inspector George, there is something I wanted to ask you. Your men are already in the boathouse and the film makers want that for a scene they planned to shoot today.’
The forensic team feared a far more dramatic scene had already played out there last night. From the early results on the blood splatter marks, they believed they’d found the site of the murder before the body was set adrift in the punt.
That made Leo wonder: why bother pushing it out in the punt rather than just leaving it there? He’d have to puzzle that one out later as he had more immediate questions that needed answering.
Mr Field was still speaking. ‘They’d got it all rigged but I’ve had to put them off. When will they be able to get back in there again?’
‘I’m afraid that depends on what we find but I can assure you that everything will be done as speedily as possible without prejudicing any evidence that might be there.’
‘Of course.’
‘I think it is safe to tell them that it won’t be today.’
‘Lad, pass on the bad news, will you?’ This comment was lobbed to the scrawny young man, most junior of the porters, who had the frightened-rabbit look of someone terrified of his superiors.
‘Yes, Mr Field. Right away, Mr Field.’ He picked up the phone.
As the head porter led Leo to his office, Leo saw the junior porter smirk at his back. He revised his opinion that the lad was a rabbit, more a sly fox. There was something not quite right about the young man’s attitude in the wake of a murder, just a slightly off note. Maybe the porters, with their access to all areas, would be worth a closer look as suspects?
‘Mr Field, did you see Dr Kingston last night?’ Leo asked, getting back to more immediate business.
‘Not personally.’ Mr Field offered Leo a chair but he indicated he preferred to stand. Even with all the windows open, the porter’s office felt airless. ‘I knew he was around. His bike was chained up in its usual place.’
‘If you could show me that next?’
‘Of course.’
‘Any idea why he was here?’
‘None. Everything seemed to be running smoothly and I was here if there were any college related enquiries.’
‘But if you were involved in a scene, maybe someone thought they shouldn’t bother you?’
He rubbed his chin. ‘That’s possible, I suppose.’
‘Who else was here?’
‘Simon – that’s the lad on duty now. He didn’t see Dr Kingston, I’ve already asked him. But he did admit that he was very busy, so Dr Kingston could’ve walked in without Simon noticing. We don’t have a formal signing in process for college staff, only visitors.’
‘May I see that list?’
‘Of course, but you’ll want the film crew’s records as well, which we don’t keep.’
‘I’ll ask them myself, don’t worry about that. Mr Field, you’ll understand I have to ask difficult questions as part of my duties.’ This was the right button to push with this man.
‘I understand.’
‘Was there any suggestion, no matter how slight, that Dr Kingston was involved with anyone, anyone he might arrange to meet here to go on an evening punting expedition?’
Mr Field went to the wrong part of the question. ‘None of the punts were signed out last night.’
‘But one was taken?’
‘Well, yes. Students have been known to copy the key to the padlocks. It isn’t unheard of.’
‘But you still have the master key?’
‘Yes, and it remains in the lodge.’
‘Hanging behind the counter?’
‘Yes.’
‘So if, say, a porter was distracted, it would be simple to take it and return it without anyone noticing?’
‘Not simple, but possible.’ Mr Field adjusted a pile of letters on his desk, ill at ease.
‘Do you have CCTV in the lodge?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’d be grateful if you’d give this to us so we can check what was going on last night.’
‘It only covers the front door and the desk.’
‘That’s better than nothing. Mr Field, about Dr Kingston and his … er … friendships.’
The porter puffed up. ‘Dr Kingston was a happily married man. There was never anything like that about him!’
Whereas there was about other staff members? They’d check this through many conversations with staff and academics over the next few days.
‘Was he particularly friendly, would you say, with Dr Jackson?’
‘Dr Jackson?’
‘Jago Jackson. He was there when the body was found.’
‘Oh. I didn’t know that. I wondered why we hadn’t seen him yet this morning. What a shock for him.’
‘Were they friends?’
‘Dr Jackson and Dr Kingston?’ Mr Field scrunched his forehead in thought. ‘Nodding acquaintances only, I’d say. They move in different circles – the academic fellows and staff.’
‘Would you mind showing me to Dr Jackson’s rooms? I have some follow-up questions.’
Pleased to have something he could do without holes being picked in his procedures, Field got to his feet. ‘Not at all. Follow me.’