And None Shall Sleep (15 page)

Carter followed their gaze. ‘Yes.' he said. ‘That's her. That's our little Row.'

And Joanna felt suddenly inadequate. ‘You have other children, Mr Carter?'

The man wiped his hand across his face. ‘Ann was pregnant when he killed our Rowena,' he said. ‘She lost 'im an' all.' His voice was tough, unemotional and tightly controlled. ‘We gave up then. Didn't seem like we was meant to have kids. They was taken away.'

Joanna glanced at Mike then back at Mr Carter. She was still at a loss for words.

‘The anger'll never leave me,' he said. ‘Not me nor Ann. We're empty because of 'im. Like old people with nothin' to say. What's 'e left us? Bugger all.'

They were silent and Carter continued. If the law had let us have what was right, if they'd have locked 'im up, put 'im away – something – it wouldn't 'ave bin so bad. As it was they just took his side.'

‘As I understand it,' Joanna said cautiously, ‘it couldn't be proved that Selkirk was drunk at the time of the accident.'

Carter gave her a withering look. ‘Everyone in that whole court knew,' he said bitterly. ‘Everyone – even the judge. I could see it in his eyes. He knew Selkirk and that smart solicitor chap what was defending him. They all knew. But they couldn't do anything' Suddenly he stopped and smiled, and his face was transformed.

‘Do you want to see something pretty?'

They both nodded because they didn't know what else to say or do.

‘Come up here, then.' And they followed him upstairs.

It was a tiny landing, no more than a yard square of blue carpet. Four doors led off it. On one of them was a ceramic plaque. Rowena's Room, it said. And the writing was embellished by a long-stemmed, deep red rose.

Carter pushed the door wide open. Inside, strewn across the floor, were little girls' toys. All the favourites. Cindy's house, Barbie's car. My Little Pony. A pair of small red leather sandals was tucked underneath the bed, their straps hanging undone. A multi-coloured quilt covered the bed. The window was ajar and the curtains blew gently in the breeze. The scent of fragrant, little girl's talcum powder still hung in the air. Joanna looked all the way around the room, then back at Carter. His eyes were moist.

‘It's a lovely room, isn't it?' he said.

Joanna nodded.

‘We got Rowena to stay at her gran's one weekend,' he said, ‘and then we bombed down to the cash-and-carry and got this wallpaper. It were a bargain. By the time little Row got home Sunday night we'd done the lot.'

He rubbed his eyes with his bare, tattooed arm. ‘Ann done the quilt, while I painted and put the paper on the walls. Row was that excited when she got 'ome she got straight into bed.' He laughed. ‘It were only four o'clock in the afternoon.'

‘You've kept the room like this?'

Carter nodded. ‘She 'as an 'eadstone,' he said, with 'er name on. But it's in the churchyard. It don't seem like 'er somehow! He frowned painfully. ‘She loved pretty things, did our Row. So 'ere' – he glanced lingeringly around the room – ‘it's 'er,' he said slowly. ‘It's like she's still in here.' He stopped. ‘You can still smell 'er, can't you?'

He looked at Joanna. ‘What would you do if someone made one of your kids suffer?' His face was frozen with hatred. ‘In pieces, she were,' he said brokenly. ‘In pieces. Bits of 'er on the road.' He couldn't contain the grief now. ‘Me and Ann, we thought we 'ad it made. I 'ad a job – a good one, solid too. We bought this place. Then little Row, and another on the way. What right,' he said fiercely, ‘what bloody right did that bastard Selkirk have to take it all away?'

Downstairs Carter offered them tea and they accepted. These questions would not be rushed. Carter handed the mugs round and offered them both sugar.

‘Your wife isn't at home?' Joanna began conversationally.

Carter glanced at his watch. ‘She'll be here in a minute. She's only at the school.'

‘I thought you didn't have any more children.'

‘We haven't,' he said shortly.

‘She works there?'

Carter shook his head. ‘Drop it,' he said, suddenly vicious. ‘Ask your questions if you aye to then bugger off. Just leave us alone. We know fuck all about Selkirk's murder, but I'd like to ask
you
one thing.'

She waited.

‘I want to meet the bloke that forced that bastard to kneel and made him beg for mercy.' He swallowed. ‘Because I'd like to shake 'im by the hand.'

Joanna hardly dared breathe. She gave Mike a swift glance and read the question in his eyes.

How had Carter known that Jonathan Selkirk had been forced to kneel? The story in the papers had reported the place and circumstances of the killing but the police had specifically asked them to omit that Selkirk had been forced to his knees.

‘We will have to speak to your wife too,' she insisted. ‘The sooner the better.'

‘As you want,' Carter grunted.

‘Mr Carter, did you have anything to do with Mr Selkirk's murder?'

Carter shook his head. ‘No, I didn't.'

Joanna watched him carefully. But even with this morning's new knowledge she had not expected a simple confession.

‘Do you know Gallows Wood, Mr Carter?'

He nodded. ‘I've been there once or twice.'

‘For what reason?'

Carter's face was screwed up. ‘Just walking,' he said. ‘Just getting out of the house.'

‘When were you last there?'

‘Couple of months ago.' Carter stood up, agitated, and peered out of the polished window. ‘Do you want to know where my wife is, inspector?'

And Joanna had a horrid, creeping feeling. She already knew.

‘Every bloody morning, dinner time, teatime' His voice stabbed at the words. ‘She stands on that bloody school crossing, every day, in the middle of the flipping road, helping the kids to cross. And do you know what she's praying?' He didn't even wait for her to ponder. ‘She's praying some other drunken psychopath will plough into her the way it did to our little girl. Now do you understand me? I didn't kill Selkirk. But I'm glad if he suffered. He deserved to.' The muscles at the side of his mouth twitched. ‘He sent us a bloody cheque after killin' Rowena. Five hundred pound.' His face twisted with a furious grief. ‘That's when I started sending him the letters. I couldn't stomach it.'

Carter looked at Mike. ‘He's ruined our lives. And there's Molly. She lost her legs. So if Selkirk's dead it's no more than he deserved. Unfortunately I haven't got a gun,'

Joanna leaned forward and set down her mug on the small polished wine table. ‘You wouldn't have needed a gun,' she said. ‘The person who actually shot Selkirk,' she spoke in a low voice, ‘was in all probability paid to do it.'

‘What? A hired killer?' Carter looked astounded. ‘You mean someone paid another person to kill Selkirk?' He scratched his head. ‘That's a new one on me. Well, that's me off the hook, then, I wouldn't 'ave robbed myself of the pleasure. I would 'ave done it myself, if I'd 'ave thought I could get away with it.'

‘Would you?'

Slowly Carter nodded. ‘If you'd 'ave been through what me and my wife 'ave for the last five years, you'd understand.' He rubbed his arms as though he were cold. ‘Bugger me. So it wasn't just us what hated him. There was others.'

He paused at the sound of a key grating in the front door and a woman walked in. She glanced at her husband. ‘Police?' she asked and he nodded.

She was thin with a pale face and untidy hair dressed in black leggings and a long, black sweater. Over her arm she carried a plastic, fluorescent yellow coat. Pinned to her sweater was a brooch the size of a hen's egg containing a picture of the same dark-haired, pretty, laughing child.

She flopped down in the seat and sat, staring at them with a bitter smile. ‘So you think it was us, do you?'

Joanna started to speak. ‘We're investigating all –' but the woman interrupted her.

‘We did have reason.' She pushed a handful of hair out of her tired eyes. ‘But we didn't have anything to do with Selkirk's miserable death. Justice is done, in the end.' Her mouth tightened. ‘Just tell me he suffered,' she said bitterly. ‘Tell me he suffered.'

Joanna looked away, startled. She fished in her bag and produced Selkirk's final threatening letter. ‘Did you send this,' she asked.

Ann Carter studied it, then frowned and shook her head. ‘No,' she said. ‘It looks the same as one of ours. But we didn't.' She glanced at her husband. ‘We stopped after the police told us, didn't we?'

Her husband hesitated before giving a slow, trusting nod. Mike was watching her curiously. ‘Did you say it looks like the letters you used to send?'

‘It does,' she said. ‘It's uncanny, really.' She glanced again at the copy of the letter in Mike's hand. ‘It's just the same.'

Joanna decided to throw caution to the wind. ‘Does the name Gallini mean anything to you?' she asked.

Both Carters shook their heads.

They were in the car before Joanna felt it was safe to speak. What do you think, Mike?'

He was watching the neat, sad house as he turned the car round. ‘They've got to be our hottest suspects so far.'

‘But why wait? Rowena died five years ago. They last sent a letter three years ago.'

‘Maybe', he said flippantly, ‘they needed to save up. Eight thousand pounds is a lot of money.'

‘Yes,' she said thoughtfully. ‘Yes it is.'

Selkirk & Wilde proved to be a square, stone Georgian house in the middle of the town. It looked every inch a prosperous business premises with its arched portico and nine-paned windows neatly painted black. The brass plate held only two names: Jonathan Selkirk and Rufus Wilde.

Inside, a neat blonde sat at an antique mahogany desk. Dressed in a tailored black suit that somehow combined mourning with elegance, she rose as they entered, efficiently took their names and spoke into the intercom. ‘It's the police.' Her voice was awed, hushed.

The door opened. Had Joanna been forced to imagine a fraudulent solicitor she would never have dreamed up Wilde. Because he looked every inch the traditional professional, old school tie and Establishment. Even his gold-rimmed glasses were somehow reassuring.

‘Detective Inspector Piercy and Detective Sergeant Korpanski.' Joanna performed the introductions.

Wilde's eyes flickered over her plaster. Politely he said nothing but gave a great, heaving sigh that encompassed both her broken wrist and his partner's murder.

‘A dreadful business this,' he said, fingering his black tie.

‘As you say, Mr Wilde. A dreadful business.'

‘Do you have any idea ...?' His voice trailed away. Behind him the blonde sat down. Wilde addressed her. ‘Tea please, darling.' He gave Mike and Joanna a wicked wink. ‘My daughter,' he explained. ‘Keeping it in the family.' Wilde's glasses glinted as he turned and caught the light.

‘Let's make ourselves comfortable,' he said genially and led them through the door into the inner sanctum – a dark, luxurious room panelled in oak. Once they were all seated in the deep buttoned leather-covered armchairs he returned to his original question. ‘Do you have any idea who might have done it?'

‘No,' Joanna said cautiously. ‘At least, we've plenty of ideas. But nothing definite, not yet.'

‘I see.' Wilde relaxed back into his chair, steepled his fingertips together and smiled. ‘Now what can I do for you?'

‘How long had you and Jonathan Selkirk been in partnership, Mr Wilde?'

‘Almost twenty years,' he said mournfully. ‘It was a long time. I never guessed it would end so tragically. You don't, do you?'

‘How did you think it would end?' Mike was sounding irritable. ‘In jail?'

Wilde's eyes flickered dangerously behind the glasses and he cleared his throat, shifted in his chair.

‘Look, Sergeant whatever-your-name-is, I'm under investigation by the Fraud Squad. I'm not trying to deny it.' He met Mike's eyes fearlessly. ‘But in this country that still means I – and this company – are innocent.'

‘Until proved guilty?' Mike's voice was as rough as sandpaper. ‘Innocent like when he ran that little girl down on the crossing?'

‘That was nothing to do with me.'

‘But you were one of the people he had been in the restaurant with, weren't you?'

‘Do your homework, Sergeant,' Wilde snapped. ‘I was nowhere near.'

Mike jerked back in his chair.

‘And as far as the Fraud Squad goes,' Wilde said smoothly, ‘I continue to protest my innocence, however much you may attempt to bully me.' He gave a swift glance at Joanna. ‘Yes, as a criminal solicitor I am well aware of the brutal tactics of the police.' He sat forward and thumped his fists on the desk. ‘But you won't bully me. I ...'

‘Don't tell me,' Joanna said wearily. ‘You know your rights. Look,' she said. ‘I'm not interested in your alleged fraudulent dealings except where they relate to this case. You're under investigation and that's enough for me. My sole purpose in coming here today is to try to find out, first of all, whether your partner telephoned you from the hospital on Monday night. If he did, did he say anything that might have a bearing on his murder? Secondly, I want to know of anyone you know who hated him enough to want him dead.'

Wilde relaxed, settled back again in his chair. ‘In answer to your first question. Yes, Jonathan did telephone me from the hospital.'

‘May I ask what about?'

Wilde pursed his lips. ‘He knew he was ill. Very ill. He was worried about a couple of cases he was managing. He asked me to take them over.' He grinned wolfishly. ‘You see? Nothing very murky at all.'