A Spider on the Stairs (36 page)

“Not likely though, is it?” said Bethancourt.

Gibbons sighed. “No, not terribly likely,” he said. “So Brumby's decided to put off the search of the bungalow and concentrate on finding the van instead. He's put out an alert for it in connection with Jody's murder. The thinking being that mention of that case should alarm him less, since I've already spoken to him about it.”

“And he's therefore more likely to come along to the nick voluntarily,” said Bethancourt.

“That's right,” said Gibbons. “Although Brumby believes Jenks would come along anyway, thinking he's smarter than any policeman. Anyway, I should get back to the others—I just wanted to tell you what was happening and let you know I'm stuck here until there are further developments.”

“Right,” said Bethancourt. “Ring me back when there's news.”

“Will do,” promised Gibbons, and rang off.

Bethancourt set down the phone and turned to find Marla already struggling into her sweater.

“Is Jack up here for that serial killer?” she asked, her head emerging from the cashmere.

“That's right,” said Bethancourt, pulling a shirt over his head.

Marla shuddered. “I hope he catches the bugger soon,” she said.

“I've no doubt he will,” answered Bethancourt. “They seem to be making progress in the case. Shall we go? Dinner awaits.”

There was a very practical side to Brumby. When no reports of Jenks had come in by ten o'clock, he returned to the hotel to get a good night's sleep.

“Bastard probably will, too,” muttered Howard.

A couple of the others followed Brumby's example, but for the most part the rest of them found it impossible to leave, somehow certain that the break would come the moment they did so.

Gibbons, however, had pushed himself over the last few days and found that his recently wounded body was beginning to rebel. Though he was as convinced as anyone that news would come the minute he was out the door, he found himself at about midnight having to give in and call it a day. Extracting a promise from his fellow officers to ring his mobile if anything should develop, he rang for a taxi and was transported back to St. Saviourgate.

The house was quiet when he let himself in, and if he was surprised to find Bethancourt already abed, he did not bother overmuch about it. The coffee he had drunk in the course of the evening was beginning to churn in his stomach, so he headed to the kitchen to get a glass of milk to take up with him.

He was just replacing the milk jug in the refrigerator when he heard the sound of dog nails on the parquet and Cerberus trotted in, his feathered tail waving a welcome. He was momentarily followed by his master, who was wrapped in a quilted dressing gown and was engaged in putting on his glasses.

“You're back,” he said. “I thought I heard you come in. Is there any news?”

Gibbons shook his head. “We're all just waiting around for some report of Jenks or his van to surface,” he said. “Until he does, not a lot more will happen.”

“That's tedious,” said Bethancourt frankly.

“Yes,” agreed Gibbons. “It is rather.” He took a sip of his milk and then sank into one of the kitchen chairs with a sigh.

Bethancourt fished in the pockets of his dressing gown and eventually found his cigarette case. He lit one and went to join Gibbons at the table.

“So you just cool your heels here until Jenks is found?” he asked.

“I don't know,” answered Gibbons. “I'm superfluous at this point—there's nothing going forward that Brumby's team can't handle. But I think the superintendent is giving me a chance to stick around to see the end.”

“Good of him,” said Bethancourt. “How do you feel about it?”

“Oh, I'd like to see Brumby wrap it up,” said Gibbons. “On the other hand, I don't much fancy sitting around the York police station with nothing to do. So I suppose it all depends on how long it takes them to find Jenks.”

Bethancourt nodded. “Would you mind awfully if I went ahead home then?” he asked. “You're welcome to stay here, of course.”

Gibbons looked a little startled, but he agreed at once. “I can see there's even less for you to do here than there is for me,” he said.

“There isn't really,” said Bethancourt. “And, well, there's been a development of sorts here.”

Gibbons raised his brows. “Let me guess,” he said. “Alice has begun to stalk you.”

Bethancourt laughed. “No,” he answered, “though, now you mention it, I did promise to have a talk with her before I left.” He
scowled. “I hate talks,” he added. “There can't be four other words in the English language more designed to strike one cold as a woman telling you, ‘we need to talk.' ”

It was Gibbons's turn to laugh. “But what's the development then?” he asked.

“Well,” said Bethancourt, feeling rather sheepish, “Marla came round this afternoon and apologized.”

“Ah!” said Gibbons. “The light dawns—that's why you were in bed so early. I take it you've made it up?”

“We have,” said Bethancourt. “But even before she turned up, I was thinking I'd like to be getting home. Jody's murder is as solved as it's likely to be, and the Ashdon case seems well on its way to being solved as well. And I'd rather like to get home.”

“I wouldn't mind that myself,” said Gibbons. “I'd barely seen my flat before they sent me up here, and I was weeks and weeks at my parents' house before that. It would be nice to feel like I lived in London again.”

“It'll come,” said Bethancourt. “Jenks is bound to turn up sooner or later, and then you'll be home and regaling me with the details of how it all went while we drink scotch in my living room.”

Gibbons smiled, a little wearily. “That would be nice,” he said. “Well, I'm for bed. You'll ring me tomorrow before you leave?”

“Oh, yes,” said Bethancourt, rising and leading the way to the stairs. “I haven't even put it up to Marla yet, though I doubt she'll have any objections.”

Gibbons nodded and yawned as they climbed the stairs. On the landing they bade each other good night and turned to their respective rooms.

Throughout the night, while Bethancourt and Gibbons slept, all across Britain, white Volvo panel vans were having their license plates scrutinized by various members of law enforcement. But none of them was Jenks's van.

The air in the incident room the next morning was one of dogged weariness. They were all painstakingly placing one brick atop another, all the while waiting to see if their work would be needed.

Brumby apparently had had a very good night's rest; he was clear-eyed and energetic, but there was unfortunately little for him to do. He spent his time ringing up his forensics team, who were very busy back in the lab, sorting out the wheat from the chaff. Thus far, however, there had been considerably more chaff than wheat, and there did not appear to be much promise of more to work on until Jenks and his van were found.

Rowett had discovered that prior to buying the bungalow in Appleton Roebuck, Jenks had rented a series of inexpensive flats in and around Leeds. Howard was out interviewing some of Jenks's erstwhile neighbors, but it seemed incredible that he would have held, tortured, or murdered his victims in a studio flat. The van, Brumby had decided, must have been the scene of the crime. But so far it had remained elusive.

With so little to be done, Brumby turned to updating Ashdon's profile, checking their work off against what was thus far known of Jenks. Gibbons, who had been left quite at loose ends, was roped into this discussion so that they might pick his brain of any little nugget of information he might have garnered about Jenks from his encounter with him. He did not in fact have much to contribute, but he found the conversation interesting and felt that at least he was learning a good deal about human psychology.

So he was there when Rowett, whose eyes were developing a permanently glazed look from the endless hours at the computer, suddenly let out a whoop.

Brumby's head jerked around. “Andy?” he said.

“I've got it, guv,” said Rowett triumphantly. “I've found the place. The bugger's been renting a cottage in Buckinghamshire.”

“What?” Brumby shot out of his chair and crossed the room with long strides to stand behind Rowett, who blinked up at him, grinning broadly.

“A place in Little Horwood called Bluebell Close,” he said. “Look, there it is on the satellite picture—nice and isolated.”

He pointed at his monitor and Brumby leaned forward to peer at it.

“My god,” he said, clapping Rowett on the shoulder. “You're bloody brilliant, Andy.” He straightened and addressed the rest of the room. “Let's get started on a search warrant for this place. Andy, do you have a landlord?”

“Of course,” said Rowett scornfully.

“Well, give Bradley there the lowdown on him so he can get a warrant,” said Brumby. “Bill, ring up the locals to let them know we'll be invading their patch, and have them do a drive-by to see if the van's in evidence. . . .” He continued to hand out assignments as they occurred to him, one bit of business after the other, and the machine that was his team shifted into high gear once again.

Bethancourt had thought about getting an early start back to London—providing Marla agreed—but they slept late and then he found that although Marla agreed in principle with the idea of leaving as soon as might be, in fact it was likely to take some time before she was ready to go.

“I've only got to pack my things up and say good-bye to Trudy,” she told him. “We'll probably just get something to eat.”

Bethancourt accurately summed this up as an extended conversation between the two women, the details of which he would likely prefer not to know. Not to mention the “packing up.” He had traveled with Marla before and knew all too well that she inevitably had difficulty fitting everything she had got out of her suitcase back into it. At least, he thought, he would not be called upon to help in the present instance.

And it occurred to him that he, too, had an errand to run. Thinking it over, he reluctantly decided that conscience mandated he let Alice have her say rather than slinking off out of town before she was aware of his departure.

He packed up his own things and then, with both resignation and a touch of anxiety, rang the bookshop, only to be informed that Alice was not there. Hoping that she was out for the day, he called her house, ready with an apologetic message. But she was in and answered the call.

“I was wondering if we might have that talk,” he said, once the pleasantries were out of the way. “I know it's short notice, but I've decided to drive back to London today—last-minute decision and all that.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding a little taken aback. “Well, how good of you,” she went on, recovering. “Would it be at all possible for you to drop by now? I've plans for later this afternoon, you see.”

“Of course,” said Bethancourt. “That would fit in very well. I'll see you shortly, then.”

He rang off and sighed. He had really been hoping he would not have to go through with it.

“Come along, Cerberus, old boy,” he said. “Time for a walk.”

Cerberus, at least, greatly enjoyed the walk over to Heworth, trotting briskly in the cold, though his master could well have done without it. He took the last puff of a cigarette, pitching the butt into the gutter before turning and ringing the brass bell beside Alice's front door.

She opened it with a smile.

“Perfect timing,” she said. “My nanny is just giving the boys their lunch.”

Bethancourt stepped in. “Then perhaps you'd allow me to take you to lunch while they're busy?” he asked politely.

Alice shook her head. “Thank you, but George is coming to take me to lunch in half an hour,” she said. “And once we're done, we're taking the boys on an outing, since it's the first day in weeks it hasn't been raining.”

“Cold, though,” said Bethancourt, shrugging out of his coat.

“Oh, the boys won't mind that,” she said. “They'll run around and get warm in no time. Don't you remember how it was when you were young?”

“I remember having to go for freezing-cold swims in prep school,” said Bethancourt, shuddering. “I can't say I enjoyed it.”

Alice laughed, leading the way into the drawing room.

And Bethancourt again remarked the change in her tone since yesterday afternoon. There was also something different in her manner, a certain joie de vivre, that he had never noticed before. Putting two and two together, he drew a bow at venture and asked, “I don't think you've mentioned George before—that's not your ex-husband, is it?”

“Oh, no,” said Alice, motioning him to a seat. “No, George is a new acquaintance. He's the father of one of my son's friends, but we only met the other day. He and little Frank's mother are divorced,
you see, so I usually see her when the boys get together. But last week, she came down with the flu and George stepped in to take the boys on their outing.”