The Rock

‘Not as yet.’

‘So, motive and opportunity. Not looking great for him, is it?’

‘We still need to place Tavares at the scene,’ Broderick pointed out. ‘Laytham’s re-examining the pathology. Sullivan, you go and check with him. The forensic boys are back at Bryant’s apartment. Let’s see if we can get any late pickings there.’

Sullivan spoke up. ‘And Tavares, sir?’

‘Let him stew.’

* * *

Twenty minutes later Sullivan was at the hospital looking for Laytham. The corridors in the basement of the large building seemed endless to Sullivan as she made her way through numerous sets of double-doors. As she was approaching yet another set, the doors suddenly burst open to reveal David Green wheeling an empty wheelchair. He moved on swiftly ignoring her.

Glancing through the porthole windows in the doors, Sullivan could see no signs for the pathology department, just a continuation of the interminably long corridor. Sullivan had to admit that she was lost.

‘Where’s a policeman when you need one?’ she murmured and continued on her way.

* * *

Across town, Broderick and Calbot had stepped over the police tape into Bryant’s apartment, where the forensics team were hard at work. An elderly woman approached the pair.

‘I told this lot it’s just as you left it.’ she informed them. ‘ Bloody nuisance, all this fuss.’

‘Excuse me? Who are you, exactly?’ Broderick asked.

‘Mrs Sedina, love. I rent the apartment. Well, not for much longer, I suppose. No-one’s going to be interested in renting a place where someone’s just topped themselves.’

‘What a tragedy for you, Mrs Sedina,’ Broderick remarked sarcastically.

‘But you think it might be murder now, do you?’

‘Just re-examining the scene for possible new insights, Mrs Sedina.’

‘Well that’s not going to help me rent it out, is it? I don’t know’ she said, with a raise of her heavy shoulders and the over projection of someone who was used to not being listened to. ‘First he hangs himself, now he’s been murdered.Why does everything always happen to me?!’

* * *

A further series of labyrinthine corridors finally led Sullivan to Professor Laytham’s office door, on which she knocked before entering. The office was empty. As she turned to leave, a set of framed photographs on the wall caught her eye.

She had never imagined Laytham to be a sporting sort of fellow, yet here he was in various athletic guises. Canoeing, parachuting, mountaineering. The picture of him holding a pick-axe atop a snow-covered mountain seemed to her a particularly intrepid shot.

‘The Eiger, 1989.’ Laytham’s voice startled Sullivan, making her jump. ‘Nearly lost a toe to frostbite. Managed to hack myself to the top, though.’

‘Impressive.’

‘Not really,’ Laytham remarked whilst lighting his pipe. Sullivan knew that smoking was prohibited within the hospital environs, but thought it best not to mention it to the avuncular pathologist. Besides she liked the aroma.

‘Sheer bloody lunacy, really’ Laytham continued. ’Makes you feel alive, though.’ His eyes lit up momentarily as he said the word. Not one he got to use that often in his line of work, Sullivan supposed. ‘You indulge in the sport yourself?’ Laytham asked.

‘Dabble. I’m more a leisure centre climbing wall sort of girl than an Alps hound.’

‘That’s impressive enough for me,’ the Professor remarked as he handed her a folder from his desk. ‘Nothing new here on re-examination, I’m afraid. Whatever Broderick may be brewing up, they both died from the result of hanging. Self-inflicted, in my opinion.’

‘Right. Well, thank you, Professor.’

‘Look, I hope you don’t think this unprofessional... but as a fellow climber, would you care for dinner sometime this week? We could exchange stories of peaks and troughs.’

Sullivan stayed silent for a few moments, rather taken aback.

‘Well, I, erm...’

‘Tomorrow night’s good for me. I could swing by the nick and pick you up, if you like.’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘About eight, then? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a decapitated air conditioning salesman to attend to.’

Sullivan raised an eyebrow.

‘Hey ho,’ he added, before marching off jovially towards his cadaver laiden slab.

* * *

Broderick and Calbot exited Bryant’s flat by way of the kitchen door and surveyed the scene in the communal yard.

‘How did the killer get in?’ Calbot asked. ‘Neither the front or back doors of the apartment were forced. Maybe the killer was known to Bryant.’

Broderick lifted up a couple of small plant pots by the side of the door. The second pot revealed a key beneath it. ‘Heh. Not much of a challenge there for anyone looking to get in. So, if he got in this way, chances are...’

The pair moved across the yard to a gate which led onto a small side street running along the side of the apartment building.

‘He would have got out here, I suppose,’ Broderick observed. ‘Hello... what’s that?’ he added, spotting a small piece of blue cloth caught on a protruding nail on the back gate.

‘Wool,’ Calbot said. ‘Part of a jacket or something.’

‘Indeed. And this looks like dried blood on the gate handle to me.’

‘It’s been over a week, guv.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Weather’s been dry.’ Broderick studied the handle a little closer. ‘Yes, that’s definitely blood. So, our killer thought he had all the time in the world in there, then the fire alarm goes off and Bryant’s landlady comes a-knocking. Had to make a quick getaway, I suppose. Interesting...’ Broderick swung open the gate and the pair entered the narrow street.

‘The killer then gets into his car or motorbike and is away,’ Calbot suggested.

‘Or legs it. Check all the CCTV in the immediate area. See what they throw up.’

Calbot had returned to the gate to look once more at the blood stain.

‘You know, guv, if this is blood, I’m betting it belongs to Martin Tavares.’

‘Only one way to find out, Calbot. Let’s get forensics out here.’

14

The Marina Bar was buzzing that evening as Sullivan recounted her rendezvous with Professor Laytham to her fellow officer.

‘The dirty...’

‘What am I supposed to do, Calbot?’

‘Well, do you fancy him?’ Calbot asked a little too earnestly.

‘What do you think?’ she snapped, almost biting his head off.

‘Well, I think he’s quite well-preserved for a granddad. Maybe you like ‘em posh, eh?’ Calbot quipped. ‘Maybe a silver fox is just to the senorita’s taste, si?’

‘Oh you’re hilarious, aren’t you? For all you know, I might not like men at all.’

Calbot’s face dropped at this.

‘You’re not, are you?’

‘Not what?’ Sullivan asked in wide eyed innocence.

‘Not gay, I mean, and if you were...are...well that’s cool with me. I mean that