“Is this your husband?”
Helen handed Eileen a close-up of the victim’s face. She took one look at it, then dropped her eyes to the floor.
“Yes.”
Her answer was muted, lifeless. Shock still gripped her, keeping tears at bay. Her brain was struggling to process these strange events.
“Is he...?” she managed.
“Yes, I’m afraid he is. And I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Eileen nodded as if Helen had confirmed something obvious, something mundane, but she was only half listening. She wanted to push this whole thing away, pretend none of it was happening. Her gaze was fixed on the many family photos that plastered the sitting room wall—scenes of happy family life.
“Is there someone we can call to be with you?”
“How did he die?” Eileen replied, ignoring Helen’s question.
“We’re not sure yet. But you should know straightaway that this wasn’t an accident. Or suicide. This is a murder inquiry, Eileen.”
Another hammer blow.
“Who would do such a thing?” For the first time, Eileen looked Helen in the eye. Her face was a picture of bewilderment.
“Who would do such a thing?” she repeated. “Who could...”
Her words petered out as she gestured toward the kitchen, where a couple of Forensics officers were photographing the heart prior to bagging it.
“We don’t know,” Helen replied. “But we’re going to find out. Can you tell me where your husband was last night?”
“He was where he always is on Tuesday nights. Helping out at the soup kitchen on Southbrook Road.”
Tony scribbled a note in his notebook.
“So this is a regular commitment?”
“Yes, Alan is very active in the church—we both are—and our faith puts great emphasis on helping those less fortunate than ourselves.”
Eileen caught herself referring to her husband in the present tense. Once again the sudden awfulness of it all overwhelmed her. He couldn’t be dead, could he? A sound from upstairs made her jump. But it wasn’t Alan padding around his study; it was those other officers leafing through his things, removing his computer, robbing the house of his presence.
“Is there any reason why he would have been in the Bevois Valley area last night? Empress Road in particular.”
“No. He would have been at Southbrook Road from eight p.m. until... well, until they ran out of soup. There are always too many people for their limited resources, but they do their best. Why?”
Eileen didn’t want to know the answer but felt compelled to ask.
“Alan was found in a derelict house on the Empress Road industrial estate.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Helen said nothing.
“If he was attacked by one of the people at the soup kitchen, surely they wouldn’t have dragged him halfway across Southampton...”
“His car was found a stone’s throw from the house. It was neatly parked and had been locked with the key fob. Is there any reason why he might have gone there of his own free will?”
Eileen eyed her—what was she getting at?
“Asking hard questions is part of my job, Eileen. I need to ask them if we’re to get to the truth of what happened. Empress Road is often used by prostitutes to pick up clients and occasionally by drug dealers to peddle drugs. To your knowledge has Alan ever used prostitutes or taken drugs?”
