She gathered up her briefcase, shoved her phone in her pocket, and hurried out of the room. All she could do was switch her mind off Phil Cooper. She didn’t have time to think about her feelings anymore. And in any case she was too frightened to do so.
The post-mortem examination brought no surprises. Richard Marshall’s estimated time of death was between ten and twelve hours before his body was found. So he had been killed the previous evening, and his condition indicated that the handgun with which he had been shot had been fired at close range. His body showed no signs of any other injury.
Karen found that she was completely dispassionate as she watched the proceedings. The truth was, she had grudgingly to admit, that although it was, of course, useful to exchange views with the Dorset policemen present, and to know at first hand the thoughts of the pathologist, she might not have bothered to stay over for the inquest at all had it not been for the opportunity to spend a night with Cooper. And look how that had turned out, she reflected wryly.
Not even the gory sight of the decimated remains of Richard Marshall’s head moved her. Although she had become extremely good at steeling herself at postmortems, Karen didn’t think anyone ever got completely used to the sight of mutilated or decayed bodies. However, on this occasion she was completely unmoved. Whether or not this was due to her complete lack of any kind of compassion for Marshall or whether it was simply that she was still numb from the events of the previous night, she was not sure. A bit of both, she supposed.
As she walked to her car she received a second call on her mobile, this time from DC Tompkins back in Torquay.
“We’ve found Sean MacDonald, boss,” said Tompkins, sounding almost excited. “He was on a fishing trip, staying in some remote Highlands hotel. Apparently he saw on breakfast news this morning that Richard Marshall had been found dead and immediately phoned here for you.”
“Inverness are checking it out but the hotel have already confirmed that he’s been there for four nights. He admits that he did buy a handgun, from some old army pal apparently, though he won’t say how, of course, and that he did consider seeking his own revenge on Marshall. But he says he couldn’t go through with it. The gun was in the boot of his car. He said he was planning to throw it into some deep water somewhere. If you ask me, boss, he still hadn’t quite made up his mind whether to have a poke at Marshall or not. He was still hedging his bets. There was ammunition with the gun, but the Inverness boys say that if Mac had tried to fire the thing he may well have ended up killing himself. It turned out to be an old Second World War Smith and Wesson, would you believe? They’re having it checked out by forensic, but they don’t reckon it’s been fired in twenty years, let alone two days ago.”
“So it looks like Mac’s in the clear, boss, whatever he may or may not have intended. Of course, it was illegal for him even to have the gun in his possession, but Inverness have indicated that, taking all the circumstances into account, including Mac’s age, they’ll probably settle for a formal caution on that.”
“Thanks, Chris.”
Karen felt relief wash over her as she climbed into her hire-car. Having to arrest Sean MacDonald might well have proved one thing too much for her to cope with, she thought.
She started the engine and switched on Classic FM. It was her favourite driving and thinking station. She wanted to concentrate hard on where this latest development left the new murder investigation. If Sean MacDonald was no longer the main suspect, then who was next on the list?
Suddenly another thought struck her. She was still in the hospital car park, heading for the exit. Abruptly she pulled in to her left on to a wide section of pavement and stopped the car. Then she fished in her handbag for her phone again.
There was somebody she hadn’t heard from. She dialled another mobile phone number. The phone was switched off. All she got was a message service. She didn’t leave a message. Not yet. Instead she dialled the number of the Evening Argus back in Torquay.
The news desk told her Kelly wasn’t there. He was off sick.
“Was he in the office yesterday?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” responded the young news-desk assistant helpfully, apparently finding nothing curious in such a query. “Well, he was in first thing but then he went home because he said his tummy bug was back. He’d been off the day before, you see...”
Karen felt her heart start to beat faster. She made another call then, to Kelly’s home. His partner, Moira, answered on the fifth ring. She sounded sleepy. Karen remembered then that Moira was a nursing sister who worked nights at Torquay Hospital. She didn’t feel guilty about waking her, though. This was far too important.
“Is John there?” she asked.
“Uh, no, he’s working.”
The warning bells rang at once. His office had said he was off sick. Moira said he was working. This didn’t look good. Unless Kelly, a man with a bad track record with both women and wine, was up to his old tricks, of course. Karen didn’t think so.
“You don’t know where he’s gone, do you?” she asked as casually as she could.
“He’s working on the Marshall story. I’m surprised you haven’t caught up with him. I would have thought he’d have been chasing you, actually.”
“He has,” Karen lied swiftly. “I missed his calls. Now his mobile’s switched off. Between you and me, I’ve got something for him. Something we can help each other over. But I need to get to him fast. Do you know exactly where he is?”
“Well, no. He left in a hurry yesterday morning. He woke me up halfway through my day’s sleep, too, phoning to say there’d been a development and he had people he needed to see on the Marshall case and he didn’t know when he’d be back. I guessed he was going to Bournemouth, and then, well, when I heard on the news later about Richard Marshall I just assumed he’d had one of his tips...”
For a moment Karen felt hope rising. “So was he at home the previous day, then?”
Her hope was swiftly squashed. “Oh, no. He was out on the story all that day as well, Bournemouth then, too, I assumed. I think he told me so. Oh, I’m not sure...”
Moira Simmons’ voice trailed off. Karen could sense the other woman’s sleepy brain beginning to turn over. She was not quite as ingenuous as the Argus’s young news-desk assistant, who must surely, Karen thought, be very new to his job.
Nonetheless, she persisted a little more. “Have you heard from him since he left yesterday morning?” she asked.
“Yes, he called late afternoon to say he would be away overnight...”
Moira Simmons sounded really concerned now. Karen ended the call abruptly before Moira could start to question her. She realized that she must have put all kinds of thoughts into the woman’s mind, but that wasn’t important. All that really mattered was to find out where Kelly had been for the last two days and what he had been up to.
Karen had that sinking feeling again. First Sean MacDonald, now Kelly. What was it with this case? It was just too close to home, it really was.
She fiddled in her handbag again and fished out a cigarette. She really needed one. Again. Tomorrow she would definitely give up. Then she made another call. This time to Bill Talbot. To her relief her old boss was at home and answered his phone straight away.
She didn’t waste time with small talk.
“Bill, do you remember you mentioned to me in the pub once that John Kelly had a special reason for being so interested in the Richard Marshall case? Can you tell me all about it, please?”
“Sure.” Bill sounded puzzled. “Hey, what about the news, though? That bastard Marshall’s got his at last. Couldn’t believe it when I heard. You won’t find it necessary to look too hard for whoever took him out, I hope.”