Chapter FOUR – Fingers and Flirting
Stella smiled to herself as she read Eve's reply, then snapped her phone shut and tossed it back into the bag at her feet.
"Spence – where are we on the boyfriend?" Asked Boyd, marching out of his office. Spence hung up the phone he had been using, and ripped off the scrap of paper he had been scribbling on – all in one swift motion.
"He's working at a landscaping firm in Chiswick." He answered, handing the piece of paper to Boyd who pretended to read it before handing it back.
"Great, Spence, with me. Stella stay here and try and find some of these other people Helga Kuhse mentioned – one of them must have some idea why our dead body ended up with Kuhse's id. Oh-" he added, coming back through the doors he had just banged his way out of, almost running over poor Spence on the way "-and tell Eve to hurry up with that face and run some dental records!"
"Have fun..." Called Grace – softly and slightly sardonically – after them.
- - -
Eve tossed her unopened cigarette packet into the bin, and focused all her attention on rebuilding their Jane Doe's dental structure. It was proving very, very difficult and she was getting very, very frustrated.
Sighing and chucking down her scalpel with perhaps more force than is safe to do so with such a sharp pointy knife, she crossed the room to the finger she had removed from the body in an attempt to get some fingerprints. The lone index finger was bubbling away in a jar of a very dilute acid, and with any luck the first few layers of damaged and battered skin would become soft enough to remove without disrupting the fingerprint patterns underneath.
After a moment's thought about whether it was worth taking off her lab coat, putting it back on and so on and so forth, she picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for the office.
- - -
"No... Hume. H-U-M-E. Yep." Stella was trying to talk to someone with any scrap of sense who could help her track down some of these people. Any financial records, any information from customs or immigration – and she was just getting the run-around at every turn. "... You've got nothing? He was a foreign exchange – no? You don't? Right." She slammed the phone down. Grace, sat at the table in the middle with a (currently blank) pad of paper, raised her head.
"Nothing?"
"Absolutely nothing. You would think these people left a trace, somewhere."
"Well, they were students or tourists – or both, they were probably poor and preoccupied... or both!" The phone next to her rang, she picked it up as Stella crossed the room to get some coffee.
"... Ok, thanks Eve."
Stella's ears pricked up, and she did her best to just raise half an eyebrow inquisitively as Grace hung up.
"That was Eve. She wants a hand in the lab-"
"I'll go!" Said Stella, a little too quickly.
"Fine." Said Grace – more to herself than anything – as Stella left the room, sharpish. "...Right." She said, looking back down at her pad. "Helga..."
- - -
"Peter Abelard?" Barked Boyd at the man who was bending over a desk filling out an invoice.
"Who's asking?" Came the short reply. Boyd took out his badge and held it right under the guy's nose.
"Police."
That made him look up. Jet black untidy hair, small eyes, a slight sneer in the mouth. Boyd instantly disliked him.
"What is it?" Now he looked worried. Good.
"You knew Helga Kuhse, yes?" Said Boyd. "She was your girlfriend, you came over for a student thing three years ago, yes?"
"Yes. It was an opportunity to see the UK, learn some new things."
"And you liked it so much you stayed behind, right?" Snapped Boyd, feeling highly impatient.
"Yeah, I have some family here, and my English was good, so I sorted my papers and stayed to work – everything's in order, you can check with-"
"We're not here about your papers." Reassured Spence.
"We're here, Mr Abelard..." Said Boyd, slowly and clearly. "...About Helga Kuhse."
- - -
"You wanted some help, doctor Lockhart?" Smiled Stella, pulling on a lab coat and sashaying up to Eve in the lab.
"Yes please, DC Goodman..." Returned Eve, indicating to the glass beaker with the finger still bubbling away inside. "Not my favourite place for a woman's finger..." She added, shooting a look at Stella, who laughed openly and winked – actually winked – at Eve. Eve smiled back, feeling instantly elated, not to mention a little bit wicked – and the best kind at that.
"Did you want me here to make highly inappropriate sexual comments or do you actually need help?" Asked Stella, mock 'serious' tone as she leant her arms on the table, body a little nearer to Eve's than it needed to be, her legs brushing against Eve's though they had no reason to.
"Actually I need you to hold the finger still while I use both hands to pull back layers of skin." Admitted Eve. Stella's face dropped slightly. "Sorry." She added.
Stella shrugged, smirked. "You'll have to make it up to me later..."
- - -
"She was my girlfriend, yes. We had been together about six months before coming here." Abelard had finally dropped the act and was talking to Boyd and Spence – but it wasn't enough and Detective Superintendent Boyd was getting impatient, not to mention that the whole landscaping office stank of old sandwiches and stale tea.
"So, then what?" Spence prompted.
"I met a guy-"
"Name?" Snapped Boyd.
"Michel Foucault."
"German?" Boyd, again interrupting.
"Yeah-"
"Student?"
"No – older, he'd been here a few years. Him and his girl – Hannah something – they stayed at this house-"
"In west London?" Interrupted Spence, a second before Boyd could open his mouth to make the exact same point.
"Yes. It was empty, a squat."
"Ah..." Said Boyd slowly. "So it was a squat... Helga didn't mention that..."
"Helga? She's alive?" Asked Abelard, suddenly.
Boyd blinked, wrinkled his nose at the smell. "Yeah. Forgot to mention."
"But they found a body..."
"Not her. Tell me more about Michel."
"Well, he took us to this house, and we spent a month drinking and... um..."
"Taking drugs?" Supplied Spence.
"We're not interested in the drugs." Said Boyd calmly; he could see Abelard's eyes flicker – nervous, not to mention thoroughly caught.
"Michel he... had his connections." Admitted Abelard.
"Mr Abelard," started Boyd, "we found Helga Kuhse's wallet on another body. Any idea how that could have happened?"
"Well, if she lost it while we were in that house anyone could have taken it. People just came and went."
"But if you were her boyfriend... presumably she would have told you if her wallet had gone missing. I mean it's a pretty important thing to lose." Abelard said nothing, just looked down at his feet. Boyd stared at him. "Right?"
"Towards the end she... well, she suddenly went off me. Disappeared for a day at a time. Said she wasn't into me any more."
"So you were pretty upset..?" Suggested Boyd. Abelard looked up at him oddly, a frown on his face.
"More worried about her than anything. I mean, she just suddenly changed. No reason. And then she left, after a few days I reported her missing. I was devastated when they found her... or, not her... who was it?" He asked – the realisation that there was now an unidentified dead girl that was not Helga Kuhse out there. "The body they found..."
"That's what we're trying to find out. We're going to need as many details as you can remember about all of the women in that house. And a DNA sample. And fingerprints." Said Boyd, adding to the list. "Can you do that?" Abelard nodded. "Good. Spence, get all that from him." He ordered, walking out. He needed some air; the rancid sandwich smell was making him want a fresh baguette – the stale tea a nice strong coffee.
- - -
"Grace Foley" Said Grace, answering the phone.
"It's me." Replied Boyd. "You get anywhere?"
"Stella's in the lab doing something with Eve, I'm trying to work on this connection between Helga Kuhse and our poor dead girl. You know, there must be something tying them together, some link..." Mused Grace, leaning back in her chair.
"Yeah, they probably both squatted at this house in West London."
"Squatted?"
"Yes Grace, squatted. What's the time?"
"It's... almost six."
"We'll be home soon. Dear." He added, as an afterthought.
"I can hardly wait." Replied Grace, keeping her voice dry but smiling nonetheless as she put the phone down.