Beautiful liar, p.5
Venom in the Blood, page 5
‘Did you see your brother again after the argument?’ Paul asked.
‘Actually, I did, now you mention it,’ Damon said. ‘He popped his head into my office to tell me he thought our father was a cunt. Imagine if that was his last word – cunt? So Benjamin.’ There was a subtle faltering of his expression as he gazed once more at his brother’s lifeless form.
‘So the next time you saw your brother was here, like this?’ Paul asked.
Damon nodded. ‘I came out here about an hour ago. I sat right here, actually. I didn’t even notice him at first.’ He sighed, raking his fingers through his dark hair. ‘Jesus, he was lying there all that time. I checked his pulse …’ He shuddered as his voice trailed off, blinking back tears.
‘So that’s nearly forty-eight hours since you last saw him. And yet you didn’t report him missing?’ Paul asked.
Damon sighed. ‘He’s an adult, Detective. We don’t keep tabs on each other. We can go days without seeing one another. This place isn’t exactly small, is it?’ he added, peering up at the manor.
‘Can you think of anyone who might want to do this to your brother?’ Paul asked.
Damon laughed bitterly. ‘Better to ask who wouldn’t want to do this. You know what Benjamin’s been like the past few years. Drinking too much. Getting into people’s faces. Fucking people’s husbands and wives.’
‘I’ll need a list of people,’ Paul said. ‘Can you do that for me?’
Damon shrugged. ‘Sure.’
‘To your knowledge, was Benjamin experiencing any personal problems?’
‘Just the usual alcoholism and sex addiction.’
Paul sighed. ‘Did that lead to any specific issues with people?’
‘Not from what I know.’
‘And what about work? Last I knew, Benjamin was on the board of some wildlife parks and charities.’
Damon smiled slightly. ‘It was all for show, really. He didn’t do actual work for them. Certainly didn’t get paid for it. Look,’ Damon added with a sigh, ‘with all due respect, this is not the work of a loan shark. Whoever did this is clever, calculated, cruel.’
Like you, Paul thought.
Damon stubbed his cigarette out and threw it down onto the cracked paving slabs below.
‘Pick that up, please,’ Paul said.
‘I can litter where I want. You don’t own this place.’
‘Neither do you – your father does.’
‘For now.’
Paul narrowed his eyes at Damon. Of course, that was something else to factor in. With his oldest son gone, Damon would be the main benefactor of the Oberlin estate.
‘Pick. It. Up,’ Paul said again. ‘Don’t want one of our forensics investigators finding it and assuming it belongs to your brother’s killer, do we?’ he added.
Damon sighed and picked the cigarette stub up, adding it to the ash-and-fly-riddled mug.
‘What I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘is why place Benjamin here and the other men at the butterfly farm? And why target Benjamin, too? He’s not friends with them.’
It was a question that had crossed Paul’s mind, as well.
Another question was: was Damon Oberlin capable of murder?
5
Vanessa was aware of Damon’s eyes on her as she carefully examined Benjamin’s body with Mio. Arthur Oberlin was also watching her from his spot in the orangery. What was going through his mind? It was hard to tell with the old man. Hard to tell with Damon, too. He’d had a complicated relationship with his brother. Still, it was his brother. This was bound to be tough, especially with Paul seeming convinced Damon was involved with all this in some way.
Vanessa looked down at Benjamin and his cotton-wool-clogged eyes, his bulging cheeks. Not just bulging, but moving too as larvae squirmed in the crevices of his gums and under his tongue. There was a lot of larvae at this crime scene. It could just be because Benjamin was out in the open and more likely to attract flies quickly. Or it could suggest Benjamin died before the other three men. Olivia would have to factor that in, in her report.
‘What’s the deal with famous TV presenter dude over there?’ Mio asked Vanessa in a low voice as she peered over at Damon. ‘He can’t stop staring at you. You got history?’
‘Long story,’ Vanessa said. ‘Ancient story.’
Truth was, it had been tough seeing him again in such awful circumstances. He hadn’t changed much. More dark stubble around his chiselled features, yes. More creases around his startling eyes and full lips. But still breathtaking to look at.
How did she look to him? More padding on the bones. Darker circles under the eyes.
Jesus. Why did it matter?
‘So New York, hey?’ Mio said as she opened a pack of sterile, pre-packaged swabs. ‘Are you heading up a whole department there?’
‘Nope. I am the forensic entomology department,’ Vanessa replied. ‘You know what it’s like, not as in demand like some other disciplines.’
‘Yet,’ Mio said. ‘Not everyone understands the potential of your field but that’ll change with you in charge. So, when are you leaving our plastic-clogged shores?’
‘I was supposed to fly out today.’
Mio raised an eyebrow as she gently rolled a swab over Benjamin’s cheek. ‘You’ve delayed it for the case?’
Vanessa nodded as she began to take her own samples, carefully using forceps to extract some larvae from Benjamin’s belly button and placing them in a container. She wouldn’t know for sure what stage they were at before looking at them under a microscope. But they were very small larvae, which suggested they were possibly first instar and only recently emerged from eggs.
‘I’ll need some boiled water,’ she told the young, muscular officer Paul had referred to as OS. ‘Can one of your officers get some from the manor?’
‘Why?’ OS asked, grimacing as he looked at the squirming maggots.
‘It’s imperative we kill the larvae first with hot water to destroy any bacteria, and keep them in the same state as they were found here at the scene for examination,’ Vanessa explained.
‘Stopping the clock, so to speak,’ Heena called over, as she set up the data logger Vanessa had given her.
Vanessa smiled beneath her mask. The girl was a quick learner.
OS called over an officer. ‘Go to the manor, get some boiling water, stat.’
The officer stared at the maggots Vanessa was collecting.
‘Run, then!’ OS instructed the officer. He did as OS asked and Vanessa continued collecting more samples, being careful to ensure they were stored and labelled separately depending on what part of the body they’d been found in.
‘Is that cat food?’ OS asked as she placed some cat food from a pouch in one of the containers holding live larvae.
She nodded. ‘Larvae are hungry little beasts.’
‘Why not just cut a patch of skin off for them to feed on?’ OS asked. ‘I saw one of the CSIs do that once.’
Vanessa shook her head. ‘That is just plain wrong.’
‘Help me turn him over, will you?’ Mio asked Vanessa.
They both eased Benjamin onto his side, and Vanessa noticed right away what she had suspected: his rectum was stuffed with the cotton wool substance found in his other openings. A bluebottle fly took the opportunity to squeeze into a small gap between Benjamin’s puckered skin and the cotton wool as she watched, beginning her journey to find a place to lay her eggs.
‘The indignity of death,’ Mio murmured.
Vanessa nodded in agreement. As grotesque as it was, she couldn’t help but be fascinated, too. The truth was, after death, the body became a paradise for animals. A place to dine. A place to breed. A place to set up home. A final resting place too, as she could see from the dead fly nestling in the crease of Benjamin’s bottom as well.
‘Sorry, Benjamin,’ Vanessa said with a sigh as she extracted the dead blowfly with her forceps. It was so undignified for a man who used to pride himself on his neat appearance. She placed the fly into a container of ethanol, labelling it and handing it over to Heena. This one was a greenbottle, suggesting two species had colonised the body.
The officer she’d sent for boiled water was making his way over to them with a kettle in his hands. ‘Just boiled,’ he said, face red from the heat and the exertion.
Vanessa took the kettle and poured water into one of the containers of squirming larvae as the officer screwed his nose up. She waited thirty seconds to ensure they were dead.
‘Does it hurt them?’ the officer asked.
‘Maggots probably don’t feel pain,’ OS said. ‘Like fish when you hook ’em.’
‘You know that’s bullshit,’ Vanessa said as she sieved the dead larvae out and placed them in a phial filled with ethanol. ‘Just something made up by the fishing trade to make people feel better. Fish are like any other species with a complex enough nervous system, using pain as a survival tool.’
‘Shit, now you’re making me feel bad about my monthly fishing trips,’ OS said. ‘Probably making you feel bad, too, about your boiling-water pool party for the maggots.’
Vanessa labelled the phial and handed it to Heena. ‘Actually, chances are, larvae don’t feel pain because of their rudimentary nervous system. But it’s still not nice. You just have to weigh up the benefits to the deceased.’
She sighed as she looked at Benjamin. As she did, she noticed a raised bump on his right foot with a tiny hole at its centre.
‘A sting,’ she murmured.
Gordon looked up from his notepad with interest, then walked over, crouching down beside her. She could smell the potent aftershave that did little to cover the stench of his body odour.
‘Yes, I noticed that already,’ he said dismissively.
Vanessa and Mio exchanged a look.
Liar.
‘The stinger’s still in it,’ Heena remarked. ‘That’ll be why it’s so swollen, right?’
Vanessa nodded as she carefully extracted the tiny sting with her forceps and stared at it. ‘It could be from a mining bee. They usually like to nest in the sandy banks of the ridge here.’
‘How on earth can you tell that?’ Gordon asked.
Vanessa shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know for sure until getting it under a microscope, but I just recognise the shape and size. My dad’s academic insect books were my favourites as a teen. Plus, look,’ she added, pointing to a small black hair. ‘That could well be from a black and white miner bee.’
‘Detective Truss!’ Gordon called out.
Paul strolled over from where he was standing with Damon. ‘What have you found?’ he asked.
‘A bee sting on the deceased’s sole,’ Gordon said. ‘I suggest you send some officers to search along the banks of the ridge first thing in the morning, when we have better light,’ he said, peering up at the dark clouds Vanessa hadn’t even noticed gathering above. ‘Based on the sting I found, it’s possible the deceased was killed near some mining bee nesting sites located there.’
I found. So it was official. He really was taking credit.
Mio went to open her mouth to correct Gordon but Vanessa quickly shook her head.
‘OS, can you set up a search for tomorrow morning at seven?’ Paul asked OS. The officer nodded. ‘Vanessa, you should join us,’ Paul added.
‘Of course,’ she replied, eyes still on Gordon.
Paul clapped his hands. ‘OK, everyone, let’s leave the forensics team to continue their work. We’ve got four victims now and a whole load of questions that need answering. I’m going to talk to Benjamin’s father. Those of you not on scene guard, head back to the station with Detective Sergeant O’Sullivan. He’ll get an incident room set up.’
As the officers dispersed and Paul strolled towards the orangery, Vanessa set about packing her gear away beneath a caterpillar-infested apple tree.
‘Sorry about the boss,’ Heena said, casting her brown eyes towards Gordon. ‘I noticed he took credit for your find. He does that a lot.’
‘He’s not the first and won’t be the last. In fact, did you know, Heena,’ Vanessa said, raising her voice loud enough for Gordon to hear, ‘that mining bees imitate the behaviour of a competitor to win a mate? I suppose you could call it a form of taking credit for behaviour that isn’t theirs?’
Gordon pretended not to have heard her, but Vanessa could tell he had from the way his broad shoulders tensed. Mio suppressed a smile as she took some blood samples from Benjamin.
‘Boss!’
They all turned to see the young female officer with platinum-blonde hair calling out from the other end of the garden. ‘We’ve found something.’
6
Paul turned, and began to walk down the overgrown pathway that cut through the extensive gardens to see what Selma had found. As he drew closer, he could see instantly there were tyre tracks pressed into the dry mud leading from a large gate at the back.
‘Damon,’ he called over to the TV presenter. Damon strolled over, hands in his pockets. ‘Do you use this gate to drive your car in and out?’
Damon shook his head. ‘Never. These are new,’ he said, gesturing to the tyre marks.
‘Can you do some casts?’ Paul called over to Heena.
Heena grabbed her kitbag and headed over. As she passed Gordon, Paul couldn’t help but smile. He’d heard what Vanessa had said just now. Her way of saying the old goat had taken credit for the sting she must have found on Benjamin’s foot. Hopefully Gordon was beginning to see you don’t mess with Vanessa Marwood. She’d always outwit you.
‘These look like particularly large tyres,’ Heena observed when she got to them. ‘Deep, too, so a decent-sized vehicle.’ She took out her tape and began measuring the marks. ‘Yep. Unusual tyre size. Tyres like this aren’t common. They usually belong to supercars like Ferraris.’
‘Sounds about right,’ Paul said, looking over at Damon.
Damon laughed. ‘I am not that flash. I prefer small vintage numbers. Not beasts with tyre marks like this.’
‘Know anyone who owns a car that might have tyres like this?’ Paul asked.
‘Oh, I know plenty of Ferrari owners. But none who have visited us lately.’
Heena took some photos with a small camera then pulled out the items she needed from her kitbag to take casts of the tyre marks.
‘There are more tyre marks outside, leading in,’ Selma observed as she peered through the cobweb-clad bars of the gates. ‘Looks like the gate’s locked, though,’ she added, rattling the bars.
‘Damon,’ Paul called the presenter over. ‘Have you got a key to these gates?’
‘We don’t use this gate,’ Damon said. ‘Not anymore, anyway.’
‘What about your staff?’ Paul asked him.
Damon laughed. ‘Staff? What are those? We don’t have staff anymore, Detective Truss. Just my father’s nurse.’
‘Let’s check CCTV and doorbell cameras from the area,’ Paul said to Selma. ‘OS, can you radio the guys at the butterfly farm and ask them to pay close attention to any tyre marks? It’ll be difficult to tell on the concrete slabs of the car park, but worth a look.’
His thinking was, maybe the killer had murdered all four men at the same time, then transported them to two different scenes. Maybe they targeted Benjamin first, then took down the other three as they walked home from the pub, Benjamin’s body lying in the car boot as it happened.
More theories. He preferred to let his imagination run wild, so every possible scenario was there to consider.
He took a deep breath as he looked towards the orangery. ‘Right, I’m going to talk to Mr Oberlin,’ he said to the surrounding officers. ‘Hold the fort here, will you, OS?’
OS nodded.
Damon laughed to himself. ‘Good luck with interviewing my father, Detective.’
Paul gave him a hard look, then walked towards the orangery. It seemed in decent nick with its stained-glass ceiling depicting various insects in an almost reverential way. Paul walked through the ornate double doors which were flanked by symmetrical pillars. As he entered, the intoxicating fragrance of blooming citrus trees and exotic plants hit him. It felt almost suffocating in the unbearably warm room. And yet there Arthur was, sitting in his wheelchair with a blanket over his legs. But then he was nearly ninety, not quite the powerful physical presence he once was. Frail and gaunt, with thinning white hair and deep-set blue eyes, he seemed lost in thought as he stared out at the activity around his son’s dead body, hardly seeming to notice Paul.
Paul paused a moment to take everything in. Various artefacts were scattered among the exotic plants, showing the man’s obsession with insects, from intricately detailed sketches of butterflies on the walls to beautifully carved sculptures of insects, which Paul recognised as the work of Vanessa’s mother. The strangest object was an eighteen-inch-tall mahogany moth which was emerging from what looked like a cocoon, its circular base carved with interwoven insect symbols and arcane glyphs. Paul couldn’t help but think of all the rumours that used to circulate about Arthur Oberlin’s involvement in some kind of insect-worshipping cult.
‘Mr Oberlin,’ Arthur’s young male nurse announced, breaking the old man’s reverie. ‘Detective Truss is here to see you.’
Arthur turned his gaze towards the detective, his eyes suddenly piercing and intense.
Looks like there’s life in the old man yet, Paul thought.
‘Thank you. Please leave us,’ he said in a raspy voice.
The nurse nodded and left the orangery, closing the glass door behind him. Paul made a mental note to talk to the nurse later about whether he’d noticed anything suspicious over the past day or two. He went to take the seat across from Arthur. But the old man quickly shook his head. ‘The seat is new,’ he snapped. ‘I’d rather you didn’t sit on it.’
Paul resisted the urge to defy the old man and sit anyway, reminding himself that Arthur had lost his favourite son to a brutal murder.
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mr Oberlin,’ he said.
Arthur grunted.
‘As I’m sure you understand,’ Paul said, getting his notepad and pen out, ‘I need to ask you some questions about Benjamin’s last few hours.’
