No Lovelier Death (31 page)

‘ASAP means by lunchtime,’ she told Suttle. ‘You’re handling intel. Talk to Faraday. Talk to any one you bloody like but get it done. Balance of probability will do. Send me an email.’

She got back in the Audi. Seconds later she was on the phone. Suttle set off to join Proctor and the CSIs beside the van but then realised there was no point. Jerry was right. Until they’d been through the house, no one would be any the wiser.

He stood in the road for a moment or two, debating whether to wait for a lift back to Kingston Crescent or to call for a taxi. Then one of the uniforms strolled across. Suttle had met him a couple of times before. His name was Roly. He played half-decent football, guesting for the CID team.

‘There’s a woman lives opposite.’ He nodded down the road. ‘She thinks someone should be talking to her husband.’

‘Why?’

‘Apparently there was a bloke round last night, trying to knock the lad up.’

‘The lad?’

‘Cooper. She says he made a hell of a noise, pissed off her husband rotten. He went out, had a word with the guy, got a good look at him.’

‘So where is he? The husband?’

‘At work. He’s a plasterer. Knock on her door. She’s got a number for him.’

 

It was nearly five to eleven by the time Faraday left Hillingdon Hospital. Peter Ault had emerged earlier than expected from the battery of tests. His ECG trace had been normal, his pulse and blood pressure had been only marginally above average, and on the promise that he’d contact his GP for a more thorough check-up, the A & E registrar had been happy to discharge him.

Faraday had introduced himself. Ault was even taller than he’d anticipated. His height gave him a slightly forbidding air of command and it was easy to imagine him in court or at the helm of an ocean-going yacht. Like his wife, he was deeply tanned. He was wearing deck shoes, and the blazer carried a cheerful stripe, but there was a vagueness in his eyes that Faraday had seen in the aftermath of serious traffic accidents. Tragedy, he thought, is all the more cruel for being so unexpected.

They’d taken the motorway south, the Aults in the back of Faraday’s Mondeo. So far Ault had spent most of his time staring out of the side window, his head turned away from his wife. Her hand lay in his lap and occasionally she gave him a little pat but he didn’t respond. After Guildford she went to sleep, her head tucked against his shoulder.

Ault had indicated at the hospital that he was happy to be briefed on exactly what had happened at Sandown Road but it was a while before the flurry of calls to Major Crime gave Faraday the chance. On the face of it, the killing in Salcombe Avenue appeared to be linked to
Mandolin.
Suttle was busy testing the intel and Parsons was talking to Willard about possible changes in the command structure. A double murder had already stretched the current arrangements. A third might require a new SIO.

‘Exactly how did my daughter die, Detective Inspector?’

They were stationary in traffic at the lights in Hindhead. Faraday caught Ault’s eyes in the rear view mirror. It was a lawyer’s question: precise, emotionless.

‘She was stabbed to death, Mr Ault. You’re welcome to see the pathologist’s report.’

‘Thank you. Mackenzie was good enough to put in a couple of phone calls. I understand she was found beside his pool.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘So there was no question of drowning?’

‘None. She never went in the water.’

‘That’s a pity.’

The traffic began to move. Faraday forced his eyes back onto the road.

‘Why is it a pity?’ he said at last. ‘Do you mind me asking?’

‘Not at all. Water meant everything to her. Drowning would have been …’ he shrugged ‘… appropriate, I suppose.’

Faraday nodded. It was a strange thought but he imagined it might offer some shred of comfort. He began to explain about the party, wondering exactly how much detail Ault had picked up from Mackenzie. It might be a kindness to prepare them both for what they’d walk into at Sandown Road. Scenes of Crime would have left the house exactly as they’d found it.

‘So I’m afraid the place will be a bit of a mess,’ Faraday warned him.

‘So I gather.’ Ault was staring out of the window again. ‘What else did the pathologist find?’

Faraday hesitated. Was this the time to start discussing body fluids?

‘Semen,’ he said at last.

‘Where?’

‘In her vagina. And in her throat.’

Ault nodded. His face was quite expressionless.

‘And was she drunk?’

‘Yes.’

‘How drunk?’

‘It’s difficult to say. We don’t get the tox results for a couple of days yet.’

‘You’ll have witness statements, though. Probably a wealth of witness statements.’

‘Of course.’

‘So what do they tell you? About her state of inebriation?’

Faraday was conscious of the big head coming round, of Ault’s eyes in the mirror again. This was like being cross-questioned in court.

‘She’d been drinking heavily.’

‘She was incapable?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘And Hughes? This new beau of hers? Was he in the same state?’

‘He’d been drinking, certainly.’

‘And was he stabbed too?’

‘No. He had a head injury. The pathology’s not complete yet.’

Ault nodded as if this line of questioning had confirmed some previous suspicion. He’s looking to blame someone, Faraday thought. And he didn’t much like Gareth Hughes.

‘Berriman was at the party too,’ Faraday said.

‘I know. He had the grace to put a call through to the yacht. He told us how sorry he was. About Rachel.’

‘You liked him?’

‘Very much. We both did.’

‘And Rachel?’

‘She was head over heels. For years. In a sense I suspect they grew up together. My wife thinks they were like brother and sister but she was wrong: it was much, much more than that. I loved seeing them together. They were so close, so
physically
close
.
Believe me, Detective Inspector, it was a major disappointment when they went their separate ways.’

‘To Rachel?’

‘To me.’ A brief wistful smile.

They drove on in silence, Ault meditative, his head tipped back, his wife still asleep beside him. Finally Ault asked whether there’d been drugs at the party.

‘Yes.’ Faraday nodded. ‘There were.’

‘What kind of drugs?’

‘Cannabis and cocaine.’

‘In quantity?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘From witness statements, Mr Ault.’

‘And what do they tell you, these witness statements?’

Faraday caught himself frowning. While he had immense sympathy for the Aults, he was beginning to resent this drumbeat of questions.

‘It was cheap,’ he said at last. ‘In fact remarkably cheap.’

‘What was?’

‘The cocaine.’

‘How cheap?’

‘We think twenty-five pounds a gram.’

‘That’s very cheap indeed. As I understand it, that’s less than half price. And the source?’

‘We’re still developing the intelligence.’

‘I see.’ He removed his glasses for a moment and rubbed his eyes.

‘And do we know why this cocaine was so cheap?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Pity.’ Ault’s fingers found the rocker switch for the electric window. The roar of road noise filled the car and he put his head back, letting the draught lift the greying thatch of hair.

Minutes later Faraday mentioned Scott Giles.

‘I understand you sat at his trial, Mr Ault.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Was there any … ah … reaction afterwards?’

‘In what sense?’

Faraday hunted for the right word. Feedback was too limp. Jax Bonner didn’t do feedback.

‘Did you have any contact with his immediate family? Might there have been threats?’

‘To whom?’

‘To you.’

‘On what grounds?’ Ault was engaged now. ‘You’re suggesting the jury were mistaken? You think they got their verdict wrong?’

‘I’m suggesting nothing, Mr Ault. In these situations we look for motive. That’s our job. One of the uninvited guests at that party was Giles’s sister. She has a record for violence. She appears to be unstable. There might be grounds for thinking she was upset.’

‘With me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because of some miscarriage of justice?’

‘As she may have seen it …’ Faraday slowed for a roundabout

‘… yes.’

‘So she killed my daughter? Some primitive act of revenge? Is that what you’re suggesting?’

Faraday nodded. Ault was clearly upset. Next he’d be blaming himself for Rachel’s death.

He brooded for a while. Then he shook his head. ‘I’ve had no communication whatsoever from the family. This girl’s name, Detective Inspector?’

‘Jax Bonner.’

‘Jax.’ The smile was icy. ‘Very colourful. You’ve talked to her?’

‘She’s disappeared.’

‘I see.’

Faraday was wondering whether now was the moment to describe the state of Ault’s portrait. Jax Bonner had slashed it to shreds. The evidence was beyond dispute. Later, he thought. Once he’s had a little time to reflect.

‘I’m afraid there may be an issue with robbery as well,’ he said instead. ‘We haven’t been able to compile any kind of list as far as your house is concerned but one or two items are clearly missing.’

‘Like?’

‘Rachel’s laptop for one thing. Evidentially it’s obviously of interest to us but it seems to have disappeared. In time we may be able to recover it but I’m afraid there’s no guarantee.’

‘You shouldn’t bother.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve got it. It’s in the luggage. She lent it to me for the cruise. And I must say it was immensely useful.’

His wife began to stir beside him. Ault spared her a glance, no more. Then he tipped his head back again and closed his eyes.

‘Can you hazard a guess about the last few days? Since we got the news? Can you imagine what people like us
do
in a situation like that?’

‘I can’t, Mr Ault. It must be awful.’ It was Jessie.

‘Awful, I’m afraid, doesn’t quite do it justice. Unreal is closer. You get a call like that, a voice you’ve never heard in your life, and you want to pretend it’s some kind of nightmare. You want to tell yourself it hasn’t happened. But then you log on to one of the news sites, BBC, Sky, and there it is - your house, your front door - and you realise that it must be true. Your daughter really is dead. Not unreal at all. Surreal.’

He hadn’t slept at all on the voyage back to Vanuatu, he said. He’d stood two watches back to back, and then gone below when the skipper insisted he try and rest.

‘And did you?’

‘Of course not. You think. You reflect. You dwell. You dig down through the years. She used that laptop like a diary, like a best friend. I could hear her voice. I could share her thoughts. I could practically
touch
her. So close. Yet gone. Just like that. Gone forever.’

Gone, Faraday thought. His wife had used exactly the same word. So simple. So final. Gone.

They were approaching Petersfield now. Very soon they’d have to make a decision about Sandown Road.

Faraday found Ault’s eyes in the mirror. They were moist behind the big horn-rimmed glasses.

‘We can carry on down to Southsea if you want to, Mr Ault. I have the Crime Scene Coordinator standing by. He’s the one to talk to about your house.’

Ault thought about the proposition for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘Not yet,’ he said, ‘if you don’t mind.’

THURSDAY, 16 AUGUST 2007.
11.52

D/C Jimmy Suttle found Winter in a deckchair on the nudist beach, tucked away in the shadow of a disused MoD facility on the long stretch of shingle that curved towards the mouth of Langstone Harbour. Park up where you see the other motors, Winter had told him. I’m the fat bastard in the red deckchair.

To Suttle’s relief Winter was fully clothed. It was a beautiful day, barely a wisp of cloud in the sky, and Suttle could feel the heat rising from the pebbles beneath his feet. An elderly couple nearby were sharing a picnic on a square of plaid blanket. The woman poured tea from a Thermos and then passed a sandwich to her partner. They had skin the colour of old leather.

To his surprise there was another deckchair beside Winter with a pile of clothes spilling out of a green Jaguar sports bag.

‘Company?’

‘Yeah.’ Winter was finishing an ice cream.

‘Friend?’

‘That’s a bit strong, son. More like associates.’

‘Plural?’

‘Yeah, people I need to talk to. One of them told me she likes getting her kit off before taking a dip. Thought I might pop along and keep her chair warm for when she’s had enough.’

‘She knows you’re here?’

‘No, not yet. Neither of them do.’ He nodded towards the blue shimmer of the sea. It was low tide and Suttle was still searching for a couple of bathers when Winter pointed towards the distant smudge of the pier. ‘There and back. Apparently, it takes them about an hour.’

‘
Swimming?
That distance?’

Winter nodded. He wanted to know what was so important it had got Jimmy out of his precious Intelligence Cell.

‘You haven’t heard?’

‘Try me.’

‘About Danny Cooper?’

Winter’s head came round. The Calvin Klein shades didn’t suit him at all and Suttle wondered whether he’d borrowed them.

‘What about him?’ Winter said.

‘He’s dead. The girlfriend found him this morning. You didn’t know?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because you were there last night. Looking for him.’

‘I was?’

‘Yeah. I don’t suppose the bloke across the road introduced himself but his name’s Mick.’