affair for some time. Off and on, he said. We can only surmise that they’d argued, that she went up there to continue the argument, or perhaps to tell him something that made him angry.’
‘That she was ending the affair?’
‘Possibly, Fry. We don’t know.’
‘So he lashed out.’
‘And he didn’t stop until she was dead.’
Fry hesitated. ‘Exactly how much blood was there?’
‘A lot,’ said Hitchens. ‘There are photos, if you want to see them.’
Fry didn’t really want to look at them but supposed she had to. Every photograph of a murder scene she’d ever seen seemed seedy and depressing. Maybe it was a result of the photographic techniques the SOCOs used, or the quality of the lighting. Or perhaps it was something to do with the nature of the crime itself - as if photographs could capture a shameful residue left in the air, or a thin layer of dirt lying on the carpet and coating the pathetic, scattered possessions of the victim.
Cooper picked up the photos first, but didn’t look at them himself. Instead, he passed them to Fry. Surely he wasn’t
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squeamish about them? Cooper didn’t know the woman; he had no connection to the case at all, as far as she could see. So why should he even be involved?
Sure enough, the shots of Carol Proctor’s body in situ looked like something out of a third-rate horror movie: her limbs were bent at unnatural angles, while dark red stains were daubed on her face and arms, anci soaking through her clothes. A sea of red stained the carpet. The blood had surged and splashed outwards in a ragged pattern, as if the woman had tripped and spilled a five-litre can of crimson gloss.
‘There are footprints,’ said Fry. ‘Both sides of the body.’
She would never have spotted them, except that the SOCOs attending the scene had indicated the location of each print with a white marker. At first glance, they were nothing more than irregularities in the spread of the blood. But she turned to the next photo and found a close-up of a print, with a heel mark now clearly visible in the drying stain.
‘Mansell Quinn’s prints,’ said Hitchens. ‘He was wearing the same boots when he was arrested. They got a perfect match.’
‘Blood on the soles of his boots, or on the uppers?’
‘Both.’
‘And no other impressions?’
‘None in the blood.’
Then Cooper chipped in for the first time.
‘It could just mean that anyone who was present at the scene earlier took more care than Quinn not to step in the blood,’ he said.
Hitchens nodded. ‘That’s what the defence said. But there was no evidence to put anyone else at the scene. Everything fit Quinn. The scenario the enquiry team constructed had him picking up the knife and stabbing Carol Proctor repeatedly, thereby getting blood on his shoes and his clothes. She fell to the floor, and he bent down to stab her again. He
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walked around the body a couple of times, not sure what to do. He moved her to see if she was dead. Then he dialled
999.’
‘Where’s the phone?’ asked Fry.
‘Just by the door. There should be a photo.’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘See the trail of blood?’
‘Quinn’s footprints?’
‘Exactly. His fingerprints were in the blood on the handset of the phone, and in the smears on the dial. Having made the emergency call, he walked back to the body, then across to the other side of the room and sat down in the armchair. He said in his statement he felt faint, a bit sick. He said he was in shock.’
‘I suppose that’s possible,’ said Fry.
‘And that was where the uniformed patrol found him when they arrived,’ said Hitchens. Tn the armchair.’
Fry caught a fleeting moment of communication as Hitchens looked towards Cooper and met his eye. She felt a surge of anger. Somehow this was a test, and she wasn’t going to let them get away with their little secrets. She concentrated on the photographs, flicking them over one after another. Was there something she ought to be able to see, some factor they thought she would miss?
‘Wait a minute - was the front door open?’
‘Yes,’ said Hitchens.
‘Why would that be?’
‘I don’t know. But don’t forget that Quinn phoned the emergency services himself. He probably opened the door so they’d be able to get into the house when they arrived.’
‘Did he say that was what he did?’
‘As far as I recall, he couldn’t remember.’
‘Shock again?’ said Fry. ‘It can be quite convenient sometimes, don’t you think?’
She felt Cooper watching her, too, now.
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‘Were there bloody footprints in the hallway?’ she said.
