Page 75 of The Dead Come to Stay
“It’s a good point. You found Foley’s key on the nightstand; he didn’t even have it on him when he got killed.”
MacAdams smiled grimly. “We found it on the nightstand. WeassumedFoley didn’t take it with him.” He nodded to Struthers, still blowing on his tea.
“Because we didn’t find any trace of blood in the cottage, we knew the victim was murdered somewhere else. As a result, noteverythinghad been tested for prints.”
“The door?” Gridley asked. Struthers made a half-offendedof coursenoise.
“Obviously, but no usable prints from the latch handle. And since both doors were open, with the key to hand—”
“No one dusted thekey,” MacAdams said. “I picked it up from Jo’s last night, sent it to Eric.”
“A nice fat print, thumb, I think,” Struthers said. “Only it doesn’t match our victim’s.”
“It didn’t match anyone in the database, either,” MacAdams explained. “But itdidmatch the extra prints we found in Foley’s flat.”
“Holy shite, boss. You’re saying the murdereractuallywalked into Netherleigh Cottage while Jo was asleep?” Green’s eyes hovered in their whites. “What if she’d heard him—what if she woke up and caught him? Also, why the hell did he bring the key back?”
That had kept him up most of the night.
“I don’t have an answer to any of that,” he said. “Jodidn’twake up, thank God. As to the murderer, he may have been looking for something. Struthers has been attempting to find possible prints or DNA on items in Foley’s bag.”
“We’ve no clear evidence—yet—that anything had been rummaged,” Struthers said, but MacAdams already noted at least two inconsistencies. First, why throw the muddy trousers on top of everything else? Second, the damaged pair didn’t look like anything in Foley’s closets. Pale trousers, the sort of thing you might wear to deck chairs—and a size smaller than the pair Foley wore when he died. He’d worn them, they matched the description Jo gave, but it was one more inconsistency.
“I don’t think the various contents are going to yield us much more—especially as our killer doesn’t have prior,” Struthers cautioned. “So I spent most of the night reading tea leaves. Viscera, actually. Trying to narrow down the time of death.”
“We’ve got that at between elevven, when Jo last saw him, and 3:00 a.m.,” Green confirmed.
Struthers nodded. “Right,” he sighed. “I thought I could confirm it with stomach contents. No luck.”
“Okay, I’ll ask,” Andrews said, raising his hand. “How would the stomach help, even?”
Struthers stifled a yawn before continuing. “Well, if you atesomething right before being murdered, it wouldn’t be digested. It takes four to six hours to clear the gut. I thought we might be able to work backward if I knew his last meal—maybe even work out what type of food, and whether he consumed it here in town.”
Andrews put down the chocolate éclair and wiped his hands on his trousers. “Sorry I asked.”
“I’m rather sorry I bothered,” Struthers said. “Stomach told me nothing. Istillthink he must have been murderedverysoon after eleven. Liver mortis set in even before we packed him back to my lab.”
This time, no one asked—but it was an important point.
“Blood pooling,” MacAdams said.
Struthers nodded. “Deterioration of blood cells, more accurately.” Still standing next to Andrews, he borrowed his arm and pressed down hard with his thumb. “See how it turns white? In a second or two, the pink returns. When a body’s been dead twelve hours or so, the color doesn’t change anymore.”
“So killer goes back inside with the key,” Andrews said, rubbing the depression vigorously. “Andthe murder took place closer to eleven? Doesn’t that suggest the murderer wenttothe cottage to get Foley—and back inside shortly after?”
It seemed likely, but not definitive. They had searched all around the grounds and found no evidence of foul play; Foley had been spirited offsomewhereto be murdered.
MacAdams addressed the room. “In review, this murderer steals soap to tidy up the car and even returns the key. It sounds coolheaded, well planned. Except they doesn’t wear gloves, and they kill Foley with an object not well-suited to be a weapon.”
Struthers lifted a bin bag onto an empty chair, then took out several glass curios and the ashtray. Several had evidently shattered.
“I was able to replicate the damage with various objects, but only the ashtray worked in a single blow—and most left shards.I’m convinced now that this was a heavy object, resilient to shattering. If glass, tempered.”
“Then it’s time to go looking in Newcastle,” MacAdams said. “At the Burnhopes’. They are, after all, into thearts. What about our other leads?”
“Gimme a sec!” Gridley said, snatching something from the printer. “I got the guest list from the charity ball at Lime Tree Greens. I also spoke for two hours with various art dealers in York and Newcastle to see which of them were big collectors.AndI cross-referenced with the booking list at Abington Arms.”
She had highlighted a name: Gerald Standish. “He’s a Newcastle man, made his money in oil and gas. Big giver at the charity.”
