"It was as you concluded at the scene. Death came as the result of three stab wounds to the chest, one of which pierced the heart. Death was pretty much guaranteed at that point bearing in mind how far the victim was from the nearest hospital. It would not have taken long for him to collapse from the wound. I've recorded the official time of death at approximately 5:30pm."
"Is that why, in your opinion, there was no sign of a struggle on the victim's body?"
"Most probable, yes. There were no signs of further trauma, aside from a bruise to the right side of the head. Judging by the nature of the bruising and the crime scene photographs, I think this would have been a result of the victim falling to the ground rather than being seen as evidence of an altercation. There wouldn't have been much time for him to have put up a defence, spirited or otherwise. The adrenalin surge will have kept him going for a time as the body recognised his position and tried to compensate, but the inevitable will have followed soon enough."
"Right, okay," Tamara said, folding one hand across her stomach and turning her back to the breeze, wishing she'd fastened her coat. What was happening with this weather? Things were supposed to be warming, not the other way around. "What did you make of the fibres, the ones found under his fingernails?"
"Oh yes, that's right. Bear with me." She heard rustling paper as the pathologist looked for the document. "Right… the blue fibres were a woollen, cashmere mix. My guess from a jumper or a summer coat, perhaps. Nothing particularly special about them. Nothing that makes them stand out, so I'm afraid the item of clothing could well be produced and sold anywhere. We found no skin cells or blood along with them, so I suspect they ended up there as a result of a fleeting grasp. Perhaps he was holding on or trying to force someone away."
"As a result of an attack?"
"Hmm… that's hard to say. I wouldn't like to speculate," he said. "But, needless to say, should you find a similar item of clothing I'm sure we'll be able to match it."
"Great, we'll try to do that. Thank you—"
"One more thing before you go."
Tamara stopped, brushing the hair away from her eyes and listening intently.
"The victim's blood alcohol level was point zero nine."
"That's quite high for daytime," she said, picturing the empty bottle on the worktop.
"Champagne too. Perhaps he had something to celebrate?"
Tamara thought about it. She saw the bottle but missed the fact that it was champagne. What could he have been celebrating? That level of blood alcohol would put him above the legal driving limit. If he was celebrating with someone, did he or she drink as much as him? The chances of a domestic flare-up are greatly increased by alcohol consumption. Particularly if that person has a chequered emotional history with you. That thought wasn't warming her.
"Thank you, Dr Paxton."
"I'll email the full report to you now."
She hung up and opened the car door to hear Cassie thanking someone and got in as she also hung up.
"That was the pathologist," Tamara said. "Pretty much confirming what we'd already assumed. Time of death is around half past five. Some decent trace evidence under the fingernails too. If we can find a suspect, then we can match it. It would appear Gage was pretty hammered too."
Cassie hadn't spoken. She was looking at her lap, nursing her mobile in her hands.
"What is it?"
Cassie looked up, taking a deep breath. "I just got off the phone with the manager of the holiday-let complex. You remember, he was—"
"Away for a couple of days, yes," Tamara nodded. "What about it?"
"That was him getting back to me. Left me a voicemail earlier, so I just called him."
"And?"
"He saw the woman coming out of Gage's place, the evening before last," Cassie said, biting her lower lip.
"He got a good look at her?"
She nodded. "He knows her well. They're on speaking terms. He said she looked like… like she'd been crying, didn't speak to him at the time and he didn't try to engage."
"What time was this?"
"Five to five-thirty. But, oddly, he says her car was still parked there later that night when he took his dog out for a pre-bedtime pee. That was around ten to ten-thirty."
"Could he be wrong about that?"
Cassie shrugged. "Maybe."
"And? What else?"
"You're not going to like it."
Tamara's sixth sense tingled as Cassie averted her eyes from her gaze.
Chapter Sixteen
Tom Janssen slid his key into the lock, wondering what he was about to walk in to. He'd stayed later in the office than planned, waiting on a call from the pathologist that never came. Eric did a sterling job of unearthing as much information about Daniel Crowe as he could find. For once, this was a local who Eric didn't know much about. A point Tom teased the young detective constable about until realising Eric was genuinely disappointed about his lack of knowledge.
However, a few calls from Eric to friends and acquaintances soon bridged the gap. Crowe was a local landowner and an amateur property developer. If there was any land coming onto the market locally, he was often the first to make an offer to the extent that the parcels of land, more often than not, failed to reach the open market. There were even occasions where people flatly refused to sell to him, such was his reputation for being pushy and arrogant. The word locally was that he was willing to utilise third parties in order to get around such obstacles, much to the vendors' chagrin. Crowe was their first port of call for the following day. Right now, Tom felt dead on his feet. Sleep deprivation was catching up on him.
Closing the front door, he
