Chapter 3
Boyd grunts impatiently when the automatic door to the lab does not slide open fast enough for his liking. Without slowing down his pace, he grabs a white lab coat from the hanger and pulls it on, not bothering to button it up properly. He knows that the others have been waiting for him, undoubtedly entertaining themselves with trying to guess the reason for his unexpected leave. He doesn't want to give anybody, Grace in particular, the chance to ask questions.
''So, we've got a new murder suspect then?'' The impreciseness is deliberate, he knows Eve's usual reaction to such bold assumptions.
''We've got the DNA-profile of one more person who was in close contact with the victim, but whose direct involvement in the crime is still unclear,'' Eve corrects him sternly.
After such introduction nobody will bring up anything not case-related.
''The hair I found around Jakob Starek's fingers belongs to a female,'' Eve continues. ''I checked every available database for possible match, without any luck unfortunately. But there is one very significant issue still – this female is closely related to the male whose DNA we already had.''
''Really?'' Boyd's face reflects interest. ''How closely? Siblings?''
''Father and daughter. The male is definitely the biological parent of the female. And they both had to be in close contact with Jakob Starek.''
''Could it be that the 'daughter' was involved in Brandon Ellis' case already and there was some evidence as well, but as the DNA profiles were so alike because they're closely related nobody realised there were actually two different people?'', Stella makes a very naïve suggestion.
''I sincerely hope my predecessors didn't have problems with distinguishing the genetic material of males and females,'' Eve smirks, ''but now that I know what to look for I will of course recheck everything we've got in the archives on Brandon Ellis. I wouldn't hope much, but you'll never know... If that hypothetical evidence was in the form of hair, there's actually a good possibility it was just mistaken for the boy's own hair and left untested. The hair structure, colour, length - all is very similar. Even I could have missed it, unless the hair wasn't twined around the victim's fingers in this case.''
''Sign of possible self-defence?'' Spence suggests.
''Could be. Enough hair roots to provide us with the DNA, so it had to be pulled out with some strength.''
''So who's the real killer then? Maybe the 'daughter' commits the murders and the 'father' just does the cleaning up? Considering the amount of blows the victims received and sticking to the theory that the killer acted in a state of uncontrollable rage, shouldn't the damage to the victims' skulls be far worse if the killer was a grown man?'', Spence offers.
''You know well that these things ain't that straightforward,'' Eve refuses to go along with the speculations. ''There are lots of things to consider. The murder weapon first of all – we don't know what was used yet, the positions of the victim and the killer, the physical condition of the person in question... According to the evidence we've got so far the 'father' was definitely involved in getting rid of the bodies. At the moment we can't say for sure how taking care of the victims before their death was arranged and who's responsible for committing the murders. Whether it was the 'father' or the 'daughter' or some form of perverted teamwork – it's all speculative right now.''
''A field day for you, Grace, trying to profile this little murderous family, isn't it?'' Boyd grins ironically.
''I'm looking forward to everybody's eager contribution in providing me with potential suspects so I can compare their the DNA with evidence I've got,'' Eve announces with a smirk.
''I can indulge you pretty soon,'' Spence promises her. ''Henry Hayworth, the former owner of the house is coming over for an interview. He'll be here in an hour.''
The chubby and bald middle-aged man sitting across the table looks anything but a potential child-killer. Boyd's gut feeling tells him Henry Hayworth can't be their man, but years of doing his job have taught him that even the nicest looking people could be capable of most hideous things. And this man is too jumpy, suspiciously so. At first he acted as if being on an entertainment tour, clearly thrilled about his 'first time in life police experience' as he repeatedly pointed out, supplementing it with some lame jokes only he himself giggled at. Learning the reason he was contacted and summoned here has reduced his merriment conspicuously and now he looks nervous and uneasy. The way he keeps fiddling with his gold-framed glasses really starts to get on the nerves.
Boyd runs his eyes over the sheet of paper Spence has just brought him.
The confirmed dates of the arrivals and departures of the Hayworth family.
''So you've spent better part of past 4 years in Australia, as I can see. And your London house just stayed empty all this time, you didn't rent it out to anybody? A bit of a waste in my opinion.''
''There never was any intention to stay in Australia for good,'' Henry Hayworth eagerly explains. ''At first it was just meant to be a one-year adventure. But I was made an offer to extend the contract and the salary was really very good, so why not... And by then Rebecca, our daughter, had just the final year left in high-school. To change continents and countries and schools right before the important exams – we really couldn't do that to her, so we stayed for a bit longer. But we spent some time in London every year - Christmases, summer vacations, a week when my nephew got married, we came back for the funeral of my father in law most naturally... It was always good to know that our old home was waiting for us whenever we wanted to return.
''And yet you sold the house right away when you finally moved back,'' Boyd remarks, watching the man closely.
''Rebecca was head over heels in love with her high-school boyfriend. The young folks didn't waste any time, decided to get married straight after graduation. Of course I would have wanted her to wait a bit, get a college degree first... but who can stand in the way of true love,'' he attempts to jest. ''Our in-laws have a big sheep farm. I never would have thought that a city-girl like our Becky could fancy country life, but she seems to be truly happy there. And that's all that counts, right? It wasn't an easy decision to come back here with our only daughter starting her new life that far from us, believe me, but me and Edna, my wife, we were just so homesick for England ... And the house really was far two big for just the two of us, so yes started looking for a smaller one right away and found a suitable one pretty quickly.''
Eve arrives to collect the DNA sample.
Henry Hayworth regards her preparations for taking the mouth swab from him with evident concern.
''We need a DNA sample from your daughter as well,'' Boyd states. ''Give us her address and the local police will deal with everything.''
That causes a surprisingly startled reaction. ''Couldn't we please leave her out of this...''
''Any particular reason we should we do that?'', Boyd inquires sharply.
''She is due to give birth to our first grandchild in next couple of weeks. I really don't think it's a good idea to upset her with things like that at the moment.''
''Your DNA sample is all we need right now,'' Grace intervenes, tossing Boyd a reproachful glance. ''Don't worry, we won't bother your daughter if there isn't any reason to do that,'' she promises reassuringly.
The procedure of giving the swab test clearly makes Hayworth uncomfortable. He swallows convulsively several times and asks for a glass of water.
Having taken a few sips, he turns to Boyd. ''Look, according to what I've read and seen on TV... isn't it logical that traces of my DNA can be found all around the house I used to live in?''
''True. But hardly on the murder victims unless you were in close contact with them,'' Boyd remarks dryly.
Mr. Hayworth looks quite shaken.
That bloody continuous rain is still pouring down. All Boyd wants to do is lay down and get some sleep. Not going to happen.
His grim premonition turns out to be true – the ceiling of his guest bedroom is dripping, considerable pools on the floor already. The problem with the roof is agent-old, but as it takes exceptionally heavy rain for the leak to manifest, he tends to forget about it and postpone dealing with it constantly.
A couple of buckets prevent any further damage but it's quite clear that he can't put the girl in that room now, especially considering the gloomy forecast for the rest of the week.
That leaves him no other option but to use the other unoccupied bedroom in his house, the door of which he keeps locked from any possible nosy visitors. His job has taken him to quite a few similar rooms, kept untouched for decades by the families still waiting for their loved ones to return home. But he has never admitted to anyone the existence of such room in his own house. Not even to Grace, though he suspects she's deduced it long ago, despite never openly mentioning it.
He turns the key in the lock and switches the light on. Time seems to have stopped in here, leaving a deceptive impression that the boy who's room it used to be is about to return any minute. And now it all has to change.
Boyd takes a short trip to the garage and returns, equipped with some cardboard boxes. The task ahead of him is not easy.
He starts with the closet. Living in the streets already, Luke still used to pay secret visits home to make some necessary seasonal corrections in his wardrobe, never forgetting to empty the flower-patterned box on the kitchen shelf, where Mary used to keep the household money, as well. There's nothing much left in the closet, just some faded and threadbare jeans and T-shirts. But the colourful football boots are brand new. A birthday present Luke never got to wear. He bought them for him, not knowing that the boy was already kicked out of the team for smoking grass and playing hooky from football practice.
Every item in this room brings back memories. Birthdays, Christmases, weekends spent together, good old times... Boyd realises that if he keeps on lingering like that he'll spend the whole night here without getting anything done. He has to steel his heart and clean up the room.
The inescapable necessity for action curbs the bitter-sweet nostalgia, but leads to frustration and anger. He hates the bloody weather and the damned leaking roof, blames himself for not dealing with the problem when he first discovered it. He's mad at Kelly for foisting the girl on him, knowing very well he's anything but prepared for that. For some inexplicable reason he is even angry at the girl, despite understanding it to be stupid and unfair. He unconsciously channels all that futile rage into fast and aggressive movements, rips down the posters of long-forgotten pop-stars and football heroes, grabs things from the shelves and empties the drawers, stuffing everything carelessly into the boxes. He should have done this long ago. Even if Luke had ever returned home, what would a grown man have done with all that teenage boy's rubbish. Most of this stuff should go to a garbage bin right away.
Not tonight. He's not capable of taking that step yet. He carries the boxes to the ladder and hoists them all to the loft.
Sweaty and panting heavily after the exertion he returns to the room. It looks empty, anonymous. Just another spare bedroom, only the places where the posters hung showing out a bit against the otherwise faded wallpaper. But nothing reminds the former occupant any more. The rain has stopped for a moment, so he opens the window, hoping to cool himself a bit and to get rid of the slightly stale smell in the room. Fresh air in and old ghosts out.
