Gravel crunched under their feet as they passed a brand-new black Mercedes G-class and a blue McLaren 570S parked side by side.
‘Where’s the housekeeper now?’ Ramouter asked.
‘No idea. The call handler told her to wait for the police but when they arrived, she’d gone. Whatever she found must have scared the shit out of her. We’ve got a couple of officers looking for her.’
Ramouter and Henley stopped by a torn white plastic bag and food container on the floor. Pieces of kebab meat, chips, browning salad and a half-eaten pitta bread were scattered on the ground.
‘Looks like foxes got to it,’ commented Ramouter.
‘I didn’t notice any damage on the gate,’ said Henley. ‘Hall – if it’s definitely him inside that house – must have let his attacker in. The attacker was someone he knew, or the attacker possibly intercepted the delivery person.’
‘Reminds me of the Ashcroft crime scene. Violence outside and inside the house.’ Ramouter pointed at the yellow marker on the doorstep.
Henley looked at the blood staining the pale sandstone doorstep. A Rolex watch, the face cracked, and bracelet links broken, was on the doorstep next to a dying olive tree.
‘We need to check if there were any reports of a disturbance last night. An attack like this, I would be surprised if someone didn’t hear something,’ said Henley. She stepped around the blood and entered the house. Bloodied footprints tracked in and out of the house. Henley could feel the heavy weight of death as she breathed in the nauseating combined odours of metallic-spilled blood, human faeces and urine. The dull sound of a mobile phone ringing in a room somewhere on the ground floor, the rhythmic beep of the dying battery of a smoke alarm and Ramouter talking on his police radio, penetrated the silence. Henley followed the bloody footprints that faded as they progressed up the cream and black bordered runner on the staircase. She could feel Ramouter’s presence at her side as they both stared at the man hanging from the twisted polished chrome balusters of the staircase.
‘Is that him?’ Ramouter asked. ‘I can’t tell. His face.’
The man had been hanged from near the top of the staircase. A thick, tight knot connected two navy ties together. The end of the first tie had been secured tightly around the bottom of the third highest baluster. The second tie was around his neck. His eyes bulged out and his tongue hung out of the side of his mouth. His face and naked torso were bloodied, bruised and swollen. His dark blond hair was stained with blood. His legs were uneven and disjointed. Broken bone piercing through the material of the tracksuit bottoms. Henley had no idea whether she was looking at Nathan Hall or not but there was no question that she was adding another victim to her whiteboard.
Henley watched the housekeeper, Odette Pinto’s, quivering fingers tap a cup of overly sweet tea on the table. An officer had located her in a small café on Kelsey Park Road. The owner had called the police after Odette walked into the café with blood on her hands and trainers. ‘I thought she was hurt or that she’d hurt someone,’ he’d said. Two officers stood guard outside the café where the only people seated were Henley, Ramouter and Odette.
‘I can’t believe that Mr Hall is dead,’ Odette said, her Portuguese accent made her words sound more mournful.
‘It hasn’t been confirmed that the body you found is Nathan Hall,’ Henley told her gently although she knew it was only a matter of time before his identity would be confirmed.
‘Who else could it be?’ Odette replied.
‘What time did you arrive at the address?’ Henley asked.
‘7 a.m.. That’s the time I always arrive except on the weekend. I don’t work then. Mr Hall is always awake when I arrive, and he makes me a cup of coffee. He is a very nice man.’ Odette picked up a napkin and wiped her eyes. ‘I didn’t believe the things that they were saying about him.’
‘And how did you get in?’
‘I have a code for the gate and a key for the house. But I should have known that something was wrong because the front door was open when I arrived, and Mr Hall never did that. He was careful. Always careful.’
‘Did you notice anyone hanging around outside before you entered the house?’ asked Ramouter.
Odette leaned forward as tears continued to stream down her face. ‘A couple of cars drove past and a young man, he had arucksack and was on a bike. Not a cycle, but not amotocicleta, the other one, a small one.’
‘A moped?’ Ramouter guessed.
‘Si, a ciclomotor. He was outside but that was it.’
‘And what about when you went into the house?’ asked Henley.
‘I knew something was wrong,’ Odette said softly. ‘As soon as I walked in … it was quiet. Mr Hall always had the sport station playing on the radio and there was no smell of coffee. It was too quiet except for that stupid smoke alarm. And then I saw him, hanging there.’
‘You didn’t notice the blood on the floor outside and on the floor?’ Ramouter asked.
‘I didn’t realise that I’d even stepped in the … no, I didn’t know. I just saw Mr Hall.’
‘Did you go further into the house. Upstairs? Look around or—’
‘No. No. I went in, saw … saw him and I ran out. You can check the cameras.’
‘Cameras. What cameras?’ Ramouter asked, looking at Henley. They were both thinking the same thing. That they hadn’t noticed any CCTV cameras outside the house or even a video doorbell. ‘Are there cameras inside the house?’
