Her Perfect Family(71)
Matthew leans forward, narrowing his eyes. It’s a holiday snap. Looks like Greece – olive groves in the background. Hummus and tzatziki on the table in front of the couple. The professor is, was, a good-looking man. Strong jaw line. Sandy hair. Grey eyes. His wife’s attractive too. Blonde. Petite. And quite a bit younger.
‘Shot first or hit first?’ Matthew asks.
‘Not sure yet. With so much blood, hard to be sure. Will have to wait for the postmortem.’ Mel is looking at the far wall, the smart, expensive-looking wallpaper splattered with red.
Matthew’s eyes move to the blood-stained statue that lies alongside the body – presumably used to strike him. It’s chunky. Dark green. He looks around the room to see its partner still in place on a shelf just inside the door. Not a statue at all but a heavy bookend in the shape of someone sitting and reading. The books, minus one of their supports, are now sloping at an angle, two very close to falling from the shelf. So the attacker grabbed one bookend on the way in? But why do that if you had a gun?
Matthew is trying to work out if this was someone who knew about the bookends. Or would they catch a stranger’s eye easily?
He looks again at the body. There’s a huge patch of blood soaking the pale-blue shirt at the chest and the rug beneath. The gunshot wound. Sam Blake looks at least six foot. Fit. The position of the body suggests he was facing the door, so facing his attacker. Seems unlikely anyone would risk striking him first. No. Shot first, then hit.
Matthew spends a few more minutes appraising the bedroom and then steps through the hallway to the room opposite. A chill runs instantly through him. It’s a nursery in the making. The cot assembled, complete with mobile. A chair is set up in the corner as if ready for nursing, but the rest of the room is a work in progress. In the corner there are two large boxes – the labels confirming flat-pack furniture. One’s clearly a changing station with drawers. A mat covered in brightly coloured animals is leaning alongside, still in its plastic wrapping.
An image flashes into his mind of Amelie on her changing mat when she was tiny. Skinny legs kicking in frustration. Puce face furious at his fumbling. Sally, help me. I can’t get the new nappy on.
He pushes the image away as Mel walks past him. ‘Meet you outside when you’re ready, Matt?’
‘Sure. What do we know about the wife?’
‘Lily Blake. Fifteen years younger. Missing,’ she says. ‘I’ve put the call out.’
‘Pregnant?’
‘Yes.’ Mel pauses, staring right into Matthew’s eyes. ‘Six or seven months according to the neighbour. She’s not been seen for a while. I’ve sent Dave round to the parents. They live nearby.’
Outside later, as he waits for the full update from Melanie, Matthew stands across the street, taking in the red-brick suburban semi with its hydrangea and cluster of rose bushes. There’s a hanging basket – well kept. Watered regularly. He’s trying to imagine it. What exactly went on inside here today? Mel is still liaising with the uniformed officers who arrived on the scene first. House-to-house inquiries have started and neighbours say the couple had been volatile in recent months. Loud arguments. But no one heard a gunshot. The cleaner found him. She’s still in shock, having cups of tea in a neighbour’s house, giving her preliminary statement.
Social media means news travels fast these days and Matthew’s not surprised to see a car pull up behind the cordon with the logo of a local news group. He’s never understood why the media do that. Label themselves. Wouldn’t they want to be discreet? It occurs to him that maybe they use different cars for different jobs. Maybe this is from the advertising department? Who knows?
Whatever the case, he’s remembering the car-park drama with Alex and suspects a local TV crew will be along very soon too. It’s going to be a nightmare once journalists realise the victim’s from the university. Today of all days.
Matthew feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and takes it out to see another text from Amanda. Can you tell me anything yet? What about the graduation?
Damn.
Sorry. Not yet. He presses send; he’ll ask Mel to call the chancellor. They’ll probably need to make a joint statement but it will depend if the wife’s found quickly; whether she can immediately be ruled in or out as a suspect. In effect, whether they need to put out an appeal to find her.
Matthew’s thinking again of that nursery inside the house. He remembers so well Sally’s clucking and fussing and worrying in the final days of her pregnancy. She wouldn’t put the mobile up above the cot; was worried it would be bad luck. Tempting fate. He presses the speed dial and puts the phone to his ear.
‘Is everything OK?’ Sally sounds alarmed but it’s so good to hear her voice.
‘Yeah. I’m safe. But things have changed. You mustn’t share this yet, honey, but there’s been another shooting. Someone from the university.’
‘Oh no. Are you wearing your jacket? Your bulletproof jacket?’
‘Yes, I am.’ This is a lie and he feels a pang of guilt. It’s in his rucksack in the boot. He finds it uncomfortable and had no idea today would take this turn. ‘I’m at the scene. I’m safe but it will probably be on the news soon. But listen; they’re bound to up security even more now. At the hospital, the cathedral. I’m wondering if we should rethink security for you at the cottage. Just as a precaution.’ He tries to keep his voice steady but his heart rate is increasing, thinking of Amelie on that changing mat a few years back. Of the doll delivered to their house. The woman – Laura probably – at the school. Of the horrible way his family has been sucked into this.