Cold Sacrifice (34 page)

‘Come on, guys, we’ve got him!’ he announced with forced exuberance.

An awkward silence greeted his announcement.

‘Yay!’ a constable called out lamely.

‘A man killed his wife and two other women, and attacked his son,’ someone else said.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, this is supposed to be a victory, not a bloody funeral wake,’ Rob grumbled as he stomped out of the room, his good spirits dampened.

Back at Woolsmarsh and bored of paperwork, Ian escaped to the canteen for a break. His spirits sank when he saw Rob pause on the threshold and scan the room as though looking for someone. Rob caught sight of him and marched purposefully over to sit at his table. Ian nodded without speaking. He was entitled to a break.

‘I’ve got some news for you,’ Rob said.

‘A confession?’

‘What?’

‘Has Henry confessed? That’s the only news that would interest me right now. It’s late and I’m knackered.’

He wondered whether to offer to buy Rob tea and a bun, only he couldn’t be bothered to get up.

‘This isn’t to do with the case,’ Rob said.

Ian frowned, puzzled, but Rob was smiling.

‘Then what –?’

‘This is about you, Ian.’

‘Me?’

Rob nodded. ‘Christ, you’re a bit slow on the uptake. I wonder if you’re really up to the task. What news have you been waiting for?’

Ian couldn’t help grinning as he realised Rob was talking about his promotion. His colleague’s smile signalled the news was good.

‘Is it – am I –?’ He couldn’t get the words out.

‘Congratulations, Detective Inspector! Of course it was a foregone conclusion, with your record, but well done anyway.’

‘Jesus. I can’t believe it. That’s brilliant!’

Rob smiled back at him.

‘Come along to my office when you’re done here,’ he said as he stood up, ‘and then you’d better get off home and see how your wife feels about moving.’

‘Moving?’

‘Yes, they accepted your application up in Yorkshire right away. Can’t say I blame them. They’re lucky to get you, and it’s a great opportunity for you to work in a different area, see a different part of the country. We’ll tell the rest of the team tomorrow. Now you get off home and tell your wife you’ve been taken on up there. You should let her know first.’

Rob was right, of course. Ian would have to tell Bev. When a vacancy had come up in Yorkshire he had applied for it on impulse, desperate to get as far away from his in-laws as possible. But he hadn’t mentioned it to his wife. He wasn’t even sure how he felt about moving to Yorkshire himself. It would give him the chance to prove himself as an inspector, but while he was looking forward to the challenge, Bev would be moving solely for his sake. It had been her choice to buy an expensive house in Tunbridge Wells which they could barely afford on his sergeant’s salary. That was one reason for all the additional hours overtime he worked, whenever he could. There were a lot of benefits to his promotion, if Bev could be persuaded to see it that way. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he drove home. Usually he put his foot down. Tonight he crawled along letting every other car overtake him. The case was over, and he had his promotion. This should have been one of the best nights of his life. After all his hard work, instead of celebrating, he was dreading going home to confront his wife with the news. He played out the scene over and over in his mind, rehearsing different ways to tell her. Each imagined outcome ended with her shrieking at him.

‘The north of England? Are you serious? You expect me to go and live in Yorkshire?’

He resolved not to mess around, but to come straight out with it. No sweet-talking, no sitting down with a bottle of wine – she would probably throw it at him anyway. He would simply tell her the news. Bev was his wife. She should be pleased for him. Psyching himself up, he went into the house and found her watching television. She glanced up and smiled. That was a good start. He noticed she was watching her favourite soap and decided not to interrupt her viewing. The news that their lives were about to radically change could wait while characters acted out fictitious lives on screen. Bev was happily watching them fighting, kissing, and shouting at one another. It was best not to disturb her. He wandered into the kitchen and opened a bottle of champagne, downed a glass, refilled it, knocked it back again and refilled it once more. It was an expensive sort of Dutch courage. He would have been just as happy with a beer.

‘Drinking alone?’ Bev asked, creeping up behind him and putting her arms round his waist. ‘Ooh, champagne! What’s this for?’

‘Do I need an excuse to celebrate spending time with my beautiful wife?’ he asked, cursing himself for his cowardice.

Bev kissed him behind his ear, and they drank champagne together. He felt pleasantly drunk, and hornier than he had been in a long time. It would be a shame to spoil the evening by sparking off a bitter row. Their future could wait for a while.

H
ENRY HAD BEEN TRANSFERRED
to a cell in Woolsmarsh. Instead of ranting against his arrest he sat on his bunk staring straight ahead, refusing food. Admittedly, he was in a tricky situation, his son having accused him of murder, but teenage boys were notoriously unreliable. By now Ian expected Henry and his lawyer to have concocted a tale involving puberty, depression, alcohol, drugs, and teenage angst following his mother’s recent violent death. It wouldn’t have been difficult to fabricate an excuse that exonerated Henry while not being unduly judgemental of his son. Mark’s betrayal seemed to have broken his father’s spirit.

‘There’s something odd about his behaviour,’ Ian insisted.

‘You’re telling me,’ Rob agreed cheerfully. ‘Unless you think it’s normal to stab your wife, and then strangle and suffocate two prostitutes, and finish it all off by trying to strangle your own child. He’ll plead insanity, and he’ll get away with it, more’s the pity.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘What
do
you mean then?’

Ian shrugged. He couldn’t explain what was bugging him, but something didn’t feel right.

‘So how did your wife take the news?’ Rob wanted to know.

‘Oh, yeah, we got through two bottles of champagne last night,’ Ian equivocated, smiling at the memory. It had been a good night.

‘You haven’t told her, have you?’

Ian gave a sheepish grin. ‘It’s not easy. Bev’s – well, she likes it here. She likes her job and she likes being near her family.’

‘You’re her family now.’ Rob smiled. ‘I remember when I told my missus about my promotion. I was bricking it that she wouldn’t want to move out of the area, but she was straight on the phone to her mother. ‘You know that no-good bobby I married?’ she said. ‘Well, you can kiss my arse now because my husband’s an inspector!’ Honest to God, those were her very words.’ He chuckled. ‘And the funny part of it is, I had no idea until then that her mother had been dead against her marrying me. Rosy hid that well. Made me wonder what else she wasn’t telling me.’

He winked before he wandered off. Ian had never seen him in such high spirits.

The custody sergeant dismissed Ian’s qualms.

‘Of course he’s bloody odd. He goes around killing people. That’s not a normal way to behave, is it? Or have we been missing something about what you get up to in your spare time?’

‘No, what I mean is, he’s acting out of character.’

‘Ah, that’s because he knows he’s nicked. They always quieten down once they know we know. Don’t you worry, I’ve seen it all before. He’ll soon give up on this not-eating lark, take it from me. He’ll only make himself ill if he carries on like this. But he’ll come to his senses soon enough. I’ve seen more prisoners refusing food than you’ve had hot dinners.’

The custody sergeant laughed, and Ian smiled. But the sergeant had missed the point. It wasn’t the prisoner’s refusal to eat that perturbed Ian, but the thought that they might have arrested the wrong man.

Even Polly wasn’t sympathetic to Ian’s misgivings and dismissed the idea that Mark might be lying.

‘Why would he?’

Ian shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s the killer.’

‘You don’t really think he killed his own mother, for goodness sake. What kind of person would do that? In any case, he had an alibi, didn’t he? You saw the girl the same as I did, and I called and spoke to her father afterwards.’

A terrible suspicion struck Ian. He assured himself Polly would have taken the time to corroborate Mark’s alibi properly, yet the ambiguity of her remark bothered him. Just to be sure, he went back through the records and found her notes. Staring at the screen, he felt a sudden panic. His fingers shook as he logged out before going to find his colleague.

‘Your report says you phoned Eve Thompson’s parents.’

‘Yes.’

Her smile faded when she saw his expression. ‘You told me to check out her story about being with Mark when Martha was killed.’

‘By phone? Didn’t it occur to you to go round to the house and make sure the girl who gave Mark an alibi really was who she said she was?’

Polly shrugged. ‘Why would she lie about it?’

‘But you phoned. Didn’t you think you should have gone round there and confirmed for yourself that it really was her?’

‘I didn’t think it was necessary. The phone number checked out. It was the Thompsons’ landline and Mr Thompson’s description of his daughter matched the girl we saw. If you read my report –’

‘I read it. Was there any reason not to go round there?’

Ian could see realisation dawning on her face. Unable to meet his eye, she mumbled something about not wanting to cause trouble for the young couple.

‘It’s just that she’s younger than him. Her parents might not know she’s seeing an eighteen-year-old boy. I didn’t want to get her in any trouble –’

‘So you’re happy to turn a blind eye to underage sex –’

‘She’s only just underage,’ Polly broke in quickly. ‘I checked. She’s sixteen in a couple of months. But parents of girls that age don’t like them seeing older boys. I should know,’ she added sourly.

‘Don’t bring your personal issues in to work.’

‘I’m not. It’s not an issue, not any more. But it’s not part of our job to grass up youngsters who are in love. You saw the way she looked at him. They were more than just friends. There was something much stronger going on between them, and she was nervous as hell about them being exposed. You could see that. She was shaking the whole time.’

‘Oh Jesus, this isn’t bloody Romeo and Juliet,’ Ian broke out in exasperation. ‘We have to be thorough. Look, I’m sure there’s no harm done, but in future don’t leave any loose ends. Not in a murder enquiry.’

Once Mark had provided his alibi, very little time had been spent investigating him. They had been so focused on pursuing Henry, they had accepted his son’s story at face value. Polly had finally grasped the potential gravity of her blunder, but no one else had yet picked up on it. Ian didn’t intend to tell Rob what had happened unless it proved necessary. For now, he was determined to establish the truth. If the girl who had given Mark an alibi had been lying, it might mean that two women had died on account of Polly’s lapse of judgement. For the young constable’s sake, he hoped it would prove inconsequential that she had allowed herself to be misled by romantic notions.

Ian drove to the address Mark’s friend had given them without telling anyone where he was going. A tall thin ginger-haired man came to the door. Ian introduced himself and established he was talking to Mr Thompson, father of Eve.

‘What’s this about, Inspector? Has something happened to Eve? She’s not in any trouble is she?’

‘No. Your daughter isn’t in any trouble, and we have no reason to suppose anything has happened to her.’

‘Only we had a phone call a couple of weeks ago, asking if she lives here. They wouldn’t say what it was about. But if there’s anything wrong, we would like to know. She’s only fifteen.’

Ian frowned. The girl who had come to the police station had claimed to be seventeen but had looked closer to fourteen. That might explain why she had been so scared. She must realise her eighteen-year-old companion could be convicted if the police discovered he was having sex with an underage girl. If he was up to something nefarious, Ian hoped that seeing a young girl would prove to be Mark’s worst transgression. Paedophilia was among the most despicable of crimes, but sex with a consenting fifteen-year-old girl was easier to stomach than matricide.

Eve was at school, so Ian asked if Mr Thompson had any photographs of his daughter.

‘Of course. Come in. But can you please tell me what this is about?’

‘Mr Thompson, all I can tell you is that your daughter may possibly be able to give us information that will help us in an enquiry.’

‘Information? What kind of information? What enquiry?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you that, but rest assured your daughter isn’t in any kind of trouble with the police.’

Mr Thompson led him into a living room, and went off to look for his photographs. He returned to say he hadn’t been able to find any recent pictures of his daughter.

‘I’ll call my wife. She’ll know where to find them.’

He went off again and Ian heard him talking on the phone. He returned after a few minutes with a laptop.

‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘My wife keeps all our photos here. She’s always saying she’s going to print them out, but she never seems to get round to it.’

Ian found the folder with the most recent images and scanned through the slide show with growing concern.

‘Which of these is the best likeness of Eve?’ he asked at last.

‘They all look like her.’ Mr Thompson looked down and pointed. ‘That’s a good one of her.’

Ian stared unhappily at a thin blonde girl grinning at them from the screen. Apart from similar hair and eye colour, she didn’t look anything like the girl who had accompanied Mark to the police station. With a hurried thank you to Mr Thompson, and an assurance that the police were unlikely to contact his family again, Ian took his leave.

‘Do you really think he killed his own mother?’ Polly asked when Ian told her.