She grabbed the phone from the hand of the detective sergeant who had taken the call.
“Detective Superintendent Meadows,” she announced in a loud clear voice which she hoped would indicate to whoever was on the end of the line that she was in charge and which, as ever, totally belied the way she was feeling.
“DS Farthing, Hammersmith,” came the response.
“Right, DS Farthing,” commanded Karen, “I want you to start at the beginning and tell me everything that has happened.”
“Well, it’s a bit confused still, ma’am,” began the detective sergeant. “But one thing that is straightforward is that a young woman, whom it seems is almost certainly Jennifer Roth, was found lying in a pool of blood in her own flat with half her head blown off and a handgun by her side.”
“This chap John Kelly came in here to say he’d found her. He was in a dreadful state, and he still is. Could hardly get the words out. He kept saying: ‘She’s topped herself, she’s topped herself.’ Now that could be the case, but we just don’t know for sure yet what happened.”
“Anyway, one of our lads, who recently transferred to the Met from down your way, remembered Kelly at once from that big case you had a couple of years back involving that rock star’s widow, Angel Silver. He also remembered that John Kelly had actually been charged with murder at one point, so we reckoned we could at the very least have a suspect character on our hands. Then we realized who Jennifer Roth was, and who her father was — and, well, we thought we’d better get in touch with you guys at once.”
Karen took a deep breath and did battle with herself to stay calm.
“I’m grateful for that,” she said. “You still have Kelly, I presume?”
“You bet, ma’am. We’re holding him for questioning. That man’s going nowhere till we are quite sure we know how Jennifer Roth died. For a start it looks pretty certain that he broke into her flat this morning. Or if he didn’t somebody else did. A window’s been smashed round the back. We’ve got the SOCOs there, of course, and our pathologist, so we should be getting some basic facts soon. Meanwhile we’re getting a doctor in for Kelly. Whatever he may or may not have done, he’s in total shock and we just can’t get any sense out of him.”
“Right,” said Karen. “I’d really like to talk to John Kelly myself, if that’s all right. I have a history with Kelly; I think I’d stand a better chance than most. Can you square it with your governor?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, ma’am. He knew I was calling you guys and agreed it was the best thing. To tell the truth, this John Kelly has actually been asking to speak to you, and he doesn’t seem willing to even attempt to talk to anyone else. You’d better fax over a request in writing, for the record, but I can promise you that’ll just be a formality. Any help you can give with sorting this lot out would be greatly appreciated. You can move the crime scene down to Torquay if you want.”
Karen chuckled. “We have quite enough crime scenes of our own, thank you very much, Sergeant,” she replied. She glanced at her watch. “I’ll get the fax organized, then I’ll be on my way. Should be with you by about six, I’d hope.”
She rang off then and turned to Tompkins.
“Right, Chris,” she said. “You’re with me again and you’re driving. I’ve done enough of that already today. And by the time this day’s over I’m going to be out on my feet, I reckon.”
They arrived at Hammersmith Police Station, just off the main shopping street, at ten past six. Pretty good timing, Karen thought. She’d been just ten minutes out. But then she had been pushing Tompkins to drive to the limit all the way.
DS Farthing came to meet her almost as soon as she walked into the front office. She immediately expressed her gratitude to him for the speed with which he had contacted the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary and for the way in which he had arranged for her to join in the operation. That kind of cooperation between the Met and a county force was rare indeed. Under the present happy circumstances, Karen didn’t make a point of that, of course. But then she didn’t need to. She and DS Farthing were both experienced long-serving police officers. They knew the score.
Karen didn’t feel she had time for any preamble. “I’d like to see Kelly straight away if I can,” she said.
“No problem, he’s in an interview room already, waiting for you.”
Karen raised both eyebrows. This was cooperation of an unprecedented level. She could only assume that the Met in Hammersmith had more work than they could cope with, because they were certainly content to unload all they could of this case.
Kelly was sitting at a table in a small windowless interview room, looking much the same as he had when she had last seen him in a similar situation. Rather disconcertingly, his eyes seemed to be somewhat glazed. She did not treat him to the courtesy of any preliminary greetings. Instead she sat down smartly opposite him, gestured for the uniformed constable already in attendance to switch on the tape recorder, and began.
“Right,” she said. “Let’s start at the beginning. How did you come to find the body of Jennifer Roth?”
Kelly looked startled, as if he had expected a different, more sympathetic approach, perhaps, from his old friend. Well, that was tough, thought Karen, because he certainly wasn’t going to get it. Kelly seemed to be beginning to make a habit of this kind of thing. He had put her at risk professionally before, and she wasn’t going to let him do it again. He may have done her a big favour once, but that was a very long time ago, and it was a favour which she felt had been called in on more than one occasion already.
She noticed that Kelly had not shaved that day, that his eyes were red-rimmed, and that his hands on the table before him were trembling. He was staring hard at her. For a moment she thought he was going to ask her for some sort of favour. Then he just seemed to slump in his chair, and at the same time he began to speak.
“I travelled up to London yesterday as soon as I heard the news of Marshall’s death,” he said. “I had to see Jennifer straight away. I took the train to Paddington and then the tube back to Hammersmith. I went to her flat but there was no reply. I tried a few times, then I booked myself into a pub round the corner that does B and B. I had her phone number and I kept calling. I even called in the middle of the night. Still no reply.”
“So this morning I went around to the flat again and when I still couldn’t raise her I decided to break in and have a look. I was worried, and I was right to be, it seems. I felt responsible, you see, I had a dreadful feeling that I knew what might have happened. And I also had a dreadful feeling it was down to me.”
Kelly paused and wiped the back of one hand wearily across his eyes. Karen did not speak. She had no intention of putting him out of his misery.
“As you probably know now, it’s a basement flat in one of those big old terraced houses just off the North End Road,” Kelly continued. “I went round the back and broke a pane of glass in the kitchen door. It only had a Yale lock so once I could get my hand inside all I had to do was open it. Some security, eh?”
“Get on with it, Kelly.” Karen had no more time for diversions than she had for social niceties. She was deliberately brusque even though she knew it was only nervousness which had made him make the remark about security in the first place.
“Well, I went into the flat and I called out for her and then I just went through the rooms. I found her in the bedroom...”
His voice tailed off. He looked as if he might be about to be sick. He ran his tongue around his lips.
“Can I have a glass of water?” he asked.
Karen nodded and gestured to the uniformed constable to do the honours. She was, however, not in the mood to show a great deal of compassion for Kelly. God knows what mess he had managed to get himself in yet again, but this time she was determined she was not going to join him in it.