Snarl (10 page)

“Someone he worked with,” said Harriet. Then she snorted again. “Of course. Not his secretary
, or anything like that. I have to say that Jack wouldn’t be that clichéd. It was one of the other scientists, Sarah someone.”

“Sarah Brennan?”

Harriet’s eyes narrowed. “I think so, yes. I don’t remember her surname.” She paused for a moment and then said in a rush, “Maddy was, well,
incredulous
when she found out. It wasn’t like Jack, he was never a Jack the Lad or anything like that.” She smiled faintly. “Jack wasn’t a Jack the Lad. He never seemed that interested in women.”

“But you’ve only ever known him as your sister’s boyfriend and husband, right?”

Harriet sighed. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”

Kate flexed her aching hand.
“So you were surprised, too? Did Madeline confide in you?”

Harriet nodded unhappily.
“She’d been telling me something was wrong for a while. Not that she knew what it was, but… she just had a feeling something was wrong.”

“So
, what happened when Madeline found out?”

Harriet blew out her cheeks and slumped back into her chair again.
“She went crazy. Screamed and threw things. Broke a lot of very expensive ornaments. Could you blame her?”

Kate nodded. She paused for a second because she wasn’t sure how she could tactfully ask the question she needed to.

“Did Madeline…um… did she take her anger out on Jack?”

Harriet raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. Who else? That Sarah woman?”

“No, I mean… did she express it physically?” Kate sighed inwardly and stopped beating around the bush. “Did she attack him, try to hurt him?”

“I doubt it. Well, she might have thrown something at him—” The penny dropped and Harriet sat bolt upright in her chair. “What are you implying? You can’t – you can’t think that Madeline did this? You can’t think that, you can’t!”

P
eople at neighbouring tables were beginning to glance over. Kate raised a soothing hand. “I’m not implying anything, Harriet, certainly not what you seem to think I am. I’m just trying to get the bigger picture, that’s all.”

“You must be crazy if you think that,” said Harriet. Angry tears shone in her eyes. “I’d laugh if it wasn’t so – so bloody
tragic
. How dare you?”

Kate soothed and murmured and adopted the least aggressive body posture that she could. For all her outrage and overemphasis, she could see that Harriet was genuinely flabbergasted at the prospect of her sister being thought a suspect. Which, despite their marital difficulties, meant it hadn’t even occurred to her. That was interesting.

Once Harriet had calmed down a little, Kate decided on a new tactic. “You’ve told me about Madeline’s reaction to Jack’s affair. How do you think Jack felt about it?”

“What do you mean?” Harriet took another sip of her cold coffee and almost gagged. “What do you mean, how did Jack feel about it?”

“You’ve said that he told his wife that he ended the affair. What reason did he give for doing that?”

Harriet shrugged.
“Maddy said he said he knew it wouldn’t work. He didn’t want to lose his children and he didn’t think Maddy deserved to be a single mum.”

“So he was basically renouncing his affair for them?” Kate scribbled down notes to hide her thoughts. That sounded suspiciously noble to her. What if there was another reason? Did Jack Dorsey just not fancy
what would no doubt be a whopping divorce settlement if the marriage had broken up? But then, why take the risk of telling your wife, if that were the case?

Harriet had gone back to staring out of the window.
“I suppose so,” she said, after a moment.

Kate tapped her pencil on her pad.
“Did they ever split up, after Jack came clean?” she asked. “Did he ever move out, for example?”

Harriet shook her head.
“No. No, that never happened. I suppose after a while it just got – got swept under the carpet.”

Kate made a
noise of assent. There were still so many questions she wanted to ask but, before she antagonised Harriet any further, she wanted to run a few things past Anderton first. And she knew who else she needed to talk to as a matter of priority. Sarah Brennan.

Chapter Thirteen

Kate had arranged to meet Sarah Brennan at her home. It was a conversation that was probably better conducted in private, although Kate had been careful not to give any hint of what she wanted to talk to Sarah about when they made the arrangement. Sarah probably thought Kate wanted to talk to her to find out more about Michael Frank. Kate thought about Michael as she drove to Sarah Brennan’s house. Were they coming at this from entirely the wrong angle? Could Michael Frank’s death really be unconnected with the murder of Jack Dorsey? Was it just horrible coincidence? No, I can’t accept that, Kate
thought as she found a parking space. She checked her hair was smooth, pulled the shoulders of her jacket straight and got out of the car.

Sarah Brennan lived in a nondescript semi-detached house, built sometime in the nineteen fifties. It wasn’t an attractive house but it was well maintained, the small front garden neat, if not particularly interesting to look at; merely a square of well-cut lawn and some shrubs around the borders. The front door was one of those unattractive plastic ones. Kate rang the doorbell and waited. She realised she had absolutely no idea what a scientist like Sarah earned for a living. Presumably working in the private sector
, rather than the National Health Service, would be slightly more lucrative…?

Kate had met Sarah before and was therefore
, slightly ridiculously, expecting her to be dressed in her usual white lab coat. Of course, at home, Sarah wore casual clothes; jeans, a plain blue T-shirt. She wore no makeup and her dark and plentiful hair was loose around her face. As she made coffee for herself and Kate in the open-plan kitchen and dining area, Kate observed her. Sarah must have been in her late forties, perhaps early fifties. She was slightly overweight, but in an attractive way, with a clearly defined waist, heavy hips and a large bust. Kate thought back to the photograph she’d seen of Madeline Dorsey; blonde, petite, slim and sexy. Why had Jack jettisoned his ostensibly more desirable wife for this no doubt clever but much more homely woman? Kate gave herself a sharp mental slap for thinking such sexist thoughts, but it was true, wasn’t it? Why had he done it?

The coffee that Sarah gave her was good, hot and strong. The other woman sat down at the pine kitchen table, opposite Kate. She had shown no sign of emotion, anxiety or upset
as yet; the soft edges of her face were placid in repose. There was a kind of restful quality about her, Kate noticed; she gave the impression that she would rarely be hurried, or upset. Was that what had attracted Jack Dorsey?

Kate swallowed her mouthful of coffee and began.
“Thanks very much for seeing me, Sarah. I’d like to talk to you about Jack Dorsey.”

Sarah’s face flickered for a moment but the movement was soon gone.
“Oh yes?” she said, a trifle coolly.

Kate took a deep breath.
“You and he had quite a long affair, didn’t you?”

The histrionics that such an accusation would normally invoke in a suspect weren’t forthcoming. Sarah’s well-shaped eyebrows twitched upwards for a moment.
“Who on Earth told you that?” she asked, in a fairly normal tone.

“Harriet Larsen.”

“I don’t know who that is, sorry.”

“She’s Madeline Dorsey’s sister.”

The calmness flickered again. Sarah’s eyes met Kate’s and then looked away.

“I see,” was all that she said, after a short silence.

“Is it true?”

Sarah placed her empty cup back on its saucer and the chime of china against china rang out into the room.
“Oh, yes, it’s true,” she said.

“Can you tell me—
” Kate began and then stopped as Sarah’s face suddenly crumpled and collapsed inwards. The other woman began to cry, silently at first and then with harsh, tearing sobs. After a minute, she put her head on the table, hiding her face from Kate with shaking hands.

Kate waited. After an uncomfortably long time, Sarah Brennan’s crying tapered off. Eventually, there was nothing left of the storm of emotion but the occasional gasping hitch in her breathing.

Sarah sat up slowly. “I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice was steadier than Kate had expected. Sarah looked at her with wet eyes. “I loved him, you see,” she said simply.

Kate nodded. She fished a clean tissue from her bag and held it out to Sarah.

“Thanks.” There was a pause while she mopped her face and blew her nose. “It was wrong, of course it was. He was married with children. That’s why it had to end.”

“Really?” said Kate, trying to keep the cynicism from her voice.

Sarah half smiled, not fooled. “I know, it sounds ridiculous. But the thing about Jack—” Her voice shook and she cleared her throat. “The thing about Jack was that he had integrity. I know that sounds stupid, given he was cheating on his wife. But, he really did have integrity. And morals. That’s why we – our relationship – couldn’t carry on. It was tearing him apart. And he couldn’t stand the thought of not living with his children.”

Kate clamped down on what she wanted to say
, which was if Jack Dorsey was so concerned about day to day life with his children, why the hell had he sent them away to boarding school?

“How did your affair start?” was what she asked instead.

Sarah looked away, towards the kitchen window. “It was about a year ago.” Her gaze was far away, obviously remembering. “It was one of the new formulas, we were working on it together.” She transferred her gaze from the window to Kate. “We understood each other. We worked well together.”

Kate
raised her eyebrows encouragingly and Sarah went on.

“He didn’t talk much about his marriage. He and Madeline had met at university and I think – well, I think when he met her he was a bit bowled over that someone like her would go for someone like him. You know. Jack was wonderful but he wasn’t – he wasn’t glamorous. Not lik
e Madeline.”

“Do you think they had a happy marriage?”

Sarah’s gaze fell. “I don’t know. But - he was lonely. I know he was lonely. I’m lonely myself, sometimes – who isn’t?” Her steady brown gaze met Kate’s and Kate was unable to look away this time. “We’re all lonely sometimes, aren’t we? But I tell you, being lonely in a marriage is worse, I think. You’re there in life with someone who’s supposed to understand you and be with you, and when you don’t have that, well, it’s a terrible thing really, isn’t it?”

“
You and Jack talked a lot about work, I presume?”

Sarah half smiled again.
“That’s right. We’re both – we were both passionate about our work. Jack liked to have someone to talk to about it. He doesn’t get that – I mean, he didn’t get that with Madeline. Even with Alex. Alex is very clever, of course, but I always get the impression that the important thing for him is the money, not the science itself.” She was screwing the damp tissue into a ball in her hand. “Actually, it’s funny… that’s reminded me…” She tailed off.

“Yes?” Kate prompted, after a moment.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. It’s just that Jack said something about money, once. I know he was worried about it. I just can’t remember exactly what he said…”

“Jack Dorsey was worried about money?”

Sarah transferred the tissue ball from one hand to the other. “I don’t know, I can’t remember. We didn’t always talk…”

She smiled a smile that held all kinds of secrets. It was gone in a flash and a heavy look of sadness settled back over her face. Kate tried pushing her for more details on what she’d just mentioned
, but Sarah insisted that she couldn’t remember anything more. “It was just a throwaway remark. I can’t remember any more. I’m sorry.”

Kate nodded. There was a short silence before Kate broke it.
“I may need to talk to you again, Sarah. If I give you my card, can you call me or contact me if you remember anything else that you think might be important?”

Sarah nodded. “Are you any further with the investigation into Michael’s death?”

Kate looked up from closing her handbag after extracting one of her business cards. “Michael Frank? We’re following up several leads. That’s about all I can say at the moment.”

Sarah nodded again.
“He was an amazing man, too. I always had a bit – God, this sounds awful telling you now when you know about Jack.” She coloured and cleared her throat. “I always had a soft spot for Michael. Nothing happened. He wasn’t interested in me, not like that. But… oh, it’s hopeless, isn’t it?” She didn’t appear to expect an answer. “The good die young, don’t they? That’s what they say.”

Tears were forming in her eyes. She didn’t see Kate to the door
, but remained at the kitchen table, looking off into space again. Kate let herself out, closing the horrible plastic door behind her softly.

Chapter Fourteen

“Well, that’s interesting.”

Anderton
paced up and down the office floor. Kate, momentarily distracted, wondered whether he’d actually wear a path in the laminate, one day. She dragged her attention back to what he was saying.

“Let me recap, Kate. You’re saying that Sarah Brennan had a fairly lengthy affair with Jack Dorsey and you’re also telling me that she had a thing for Michael Frank.”

“Well, that’s what she said.” Kate brushed her hair out of her eyes. “She also told me that Jack Dorsey was worried about money, or said something of the kind.”

Anderton rubbed his chin.
“Sarah Brennan, sexually involved with Jack Dorsey, who is now dead. Sarah Brennan, apparently emotionally involved with Michael Frank, who is also dead. Could it be—” He didn’t finish, but started pacing again. The others watched him.

“Oh, this is insane,” Anderton said, stopping suddenly. “It can’t possibly be her. Could it?”

Olbeck shook his head. “Her alibi checks out for both deaths. And why would she kill Dorsey so savagely, anyway? She said she loved him.”

“
‘Hell hath no fury…’” Anderton said absently. He rubbed his chin and looked at the crime scene pictures. “But no, I agree with you. It doesn’t make much sense. But, you know, I would swear that there’s a woman involved here, somewhere. I can’t say why, I can’t quite put my finger on it. There’s a sexual motive here, sure as eggs is eggs.”

“Why do you say that, sir?” asked Theo, frowning.

“I don’t know. I can’t say. Call it a feeling?”

“So the terrorism’s out
, then?” said Kate, trying to keep the impatience from her voice.

“No, I’m not saying that
, either.”

Kate remembered her first impressions of the Dorsey house, when she and Olbeck had arrived after their near miss with the ambulance. Anderton might think that there was a sexual motive underlying the crime
, but Kate wondered whether it might be even more prosaic than that. What had her exact thought been? There’s a lot of money here…

“I think I should talk to Sarah Brennan again, see if she can elaborate more. Perhaps she can give us some more on Michael Frank,” she suggested.

Theo rocked his chair onto its back legs. “What’s going on with our undercover guy?” he asked. “Has he got anything at all?”

“Now that,” said Anderton, “is a good question. He’s bringing me up to speed
, later today. I’ll be able to debrief you on any developments tomorrow. Now, what else? We’re still waiting on a lot of the forensics.” He paused again, staring intently at the crime scene photographs. “I’m hoping that throws something up. Well, if no one else has anything earthshattering to impart, let’s break it up and get on with it.”

The team drifted back to their desks. Kate sat down, adjusted her keyboard
and rolled her chair back and forth. She felt impatient, not content to do paperwork. She wanted to be out there, questioning, digging, tracking down suspects. She looked across the table at the empty desk opposite. For a moment, she envied Stuart. He wasn’t stuck here, in a stuffy office, trawling through reams of data. He was out there in the field; active, a real participant in the hunt.

Olbeck,
en route
to his office, made a detour to come and perch on Kate’s desk. “That’s just reminded me,” he said, gesturing towards Stuart’s empty chair. “Stuart’s coming round to ours for dinner tomorrow. Fancy joining us?”

“Stuart?” Kate
said. “Why?” She realised how rude that sounded and rephrased. “Why are you having him round for dinner?”

“Well, it’s not like he can just join us down the pub, is it? And it’s lonely work, being undercover. I just thought he might enjoy it, get to know us a bit better, you know. That’s why you should come. The more the merrier.”

Kate tapped her pen on her jaw, thinking. She felt like hugging Olbeck – he was so
kind
. Always looking out for the underdog, for those on the bottom of the heap. Must be why he likes me so much, she thought gloomily.

“Nothing fancy,” said Olbeck. “But Jeff’s cooking
, so it’ll be good. Few beers. You know.”

“Who else is going?” asked Kate. She could not help the slight quickening of her pulse at the thought that Anderton might be there.

“Oh, the usual. You, me, Jeff, Stuart, of course. But if you’re busy…”

“No, I didn’t say that,” said Kate, quickly. “I’ve just got to check with Andrew. I have a feeling we’re supposed to be doing something.”

When Olbeck had gone back to his office, she reached for her phone and scrolled back through her text messages. Yes, here was the message Andrew had sent about their plans for tomorrow night. Dinner with Kirsten Telling and her husband. Doctor Telling was a pathologist who worked with Andrew; Kate knew her briefly through work and liked her as far as she knew her, but… sitting around a dinner table with two pathologists talking shop wasn’t the most appetising social engagement she could think of. She hadn’t yet replied to Andrew and did so now. With a quickly suppressed stab of guilt, she declined the invitation. Then she emailed Olbeck.
Am too lazy to walk over, but count me in for tomorrow night. K
x
.

*

Stuart zipped up his hoody and pulled the hood up over his dreadlocks. It was cold for early summer, the blue sky blotted out with threatening grey clouds. As he walked towards the protest table, he was unsurprised to see only two people staffing it and a little cheered to see that they were James and Rosie. Before he could draw near enough to shout hello, he became aware of the angry stance the two of them were taking, squared up to one another, with gesticulating arms and jabbing fingers. Even as he watched, James delivered what was clearly his final hissed remark and stalked off, leaving Rosie behind the stall, flushed and angry, biting her lip.

Stuart’s pace slowed to a saunter. He stuck his hands in his pockets, wondering whether to pretend he’d seen nothing or make a suitably tactful remark to Rosie. As he drew level with the table, saying a cautious ‘hello’, he could see she was
close to tears. “You all right?” he asked, throwing discretion to the winds.

Rosie sniffed and swiped her hand across her cheek.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said crossly. “Actually, I’m not fine. You probably saw what just happened.”

“Well…”

“James and I had a bit of a row. He’s so bloody
stubborn
—” She clamped her mouth together, as if she wanted to say a lot more, turned away and busied herself with tidying the leaflets into a pile.

“Do you need a hand?” Stuart offered.

Rosie exhaled. She shoved a pile of leaflets away from her, put her hands into the small of her back and stretched. “You know what, Mike?” she said. “I’m sick to death of it all. All of it. I have had enough today, I really have.”

Stuart’s heartbeat picked up a little. The mood she was in, he might be able to get more information that he’d ever managed before.
“You know what?” he suggested. “You’re right. Let’s leave it for today. Come for a drink.”

Rosie took her hands away from her back and looked at him in surprise. She had clearly not been expecting him to say that but
, after a moment, she lifted her chin and said “Yeah, you’re right. I’d love a drink.”

“Let’s go
, then. I’m buying.”

They went to the same pub they’d visited on the night they met. Rosie made a beeline for a table at the back while Stuart bought the drinks. When he brought them to the table, she was staring into space, chewing her lower lip.

“Sorry,” she said as he sat down. “I’m still angry, I guess.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“There’s nothing really to tell… he wants one thing and I want another. Humph.” She downed half her pint in three large gulps. Stuart watched her long, smooth throat ripple and reminded himself to keep his mind on the job. Inevitably, his thoughts went to Angie. Three days now
, without any contact. It worried him how much he missed her.

“Seen Angie lately?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Rosie, who’d been in the middle of a monologue about James’ shortcomings, looked surprised. Then she frowned. “Why’d you ask?”

“I just wondered. I thought you guys were friends.”

“What’s James been telling you?”

“Nothing,” said Stuart, startled at her tone. “I haven’t – I haven’t heard anything.”

Rosie knocked back the rest of her drink in one go. “Well, we are
friends
,” she said, wiping her mouth with a gasp. “But that’s it.”

“Right,” Stuart
said. Thinking he’d better change the subject, he asked her what she wanted to drink and went up and bought another round.

After another few pints, Rosie’s mood changed again. Stuart was being as attentive and charming as he could be, pulling out all his best activist anecdotes and making her laugh and shriek with recognition.

“All4One, I remember them. I used to go out with a guy who was with them. He was this mad painter, used to do these huge junk sculptures, like robots made out of cars and things.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Stuart, nodding. All4One were a radical group, half creative types, half anti-globalisation activists who’d come to national attention when they’d turned a huge empty Hampstead mansion into a commune and art studio before being violently evicted
, two months later. “I saw his stuff at Glastonbury, I think,” Stuart went on. He tipped his empty pint glass back and forth, in what he knew would be a vain prompt for Rosie to buy her round. “Did you ever live there?”

“At the HQ?”

“The Hampstead place, yeah?”

Rosie shook her head. “No, never lived there. We had a few parties there. Then, I don’t know, it all got a bit weird…”

There was a subtle shift in the atmosphere that made Stuart sit up mentally. “Oh yeah?” he asked, careful to keep his tone casual.

Rosie had drunk enough to throw caution to the winds. She propped her chin on one unsteady hand, looking at Stuart intently through her fringe.

“Yeah, weird. When I was there it was all about art and creativity, all that life force stuff – used for good, you know. But then Kitten came and suddenly it was all about—”

She broke off suddenly and went to tip up the last of her fourth pint. Stuart drummed his fingers on his leg under the table, unsure of whether to break the sudden bond that had appeared between them in order to get her another drink. He knew as well as anyone that when you broke up a two-some, it was sometimes impossible to regain that fragile
connection.

He stayed put.

“Kitten?” he asked, with just the right amount of curiosity in his voice. He hoped.

Rosie was staring into the depths of her empty glass. She turned it round and round, watching the last few dregs spiral at the bottom of the glass.
“Yeah,” she said eventually. “He’s a bit of a nutter.”

“Who is he?”

Rosie shrugged. “One of Angie’s friends. Huh,
friends
.” She smiled cynically for a moment and Stuart was surprised at the stab of jealousy he experienced as he got her meaning. “He used to be in the army, fought in Iraq. He’s really into animal rights; I remember him saying that human beings were the worst things on the planet, once. I think he likes animals a lot more than he likes people. He hates people.”

Stuart was listening, holding his breath. He knew he’d heard that strange name before – where had it been? After a moment, it came to him. The party at the squat, James saying with a loaded voice to Angie
– ‘Seen Kitten lately?’ And she’d turned and said coolly, ‘Not lately, no…’

Rosie had taken out her phone and was scrolling through her photographs. She
held the screen out to Stuart. “Here’s HQ. Look at it, isn’t it massive? Bloody obscene, something that big belonging to one person.”

Stuart looked. There was Angie, sexy in a tight black dress, incongruous against the graffitied wall that stood in the background. She was looking at the camera, the man beside her was looking at her. Again, Stuart felt that jump of jealousy and stamped down hard on it. He looked more closely at the man. Tall, well-built, balding. One muscular arm bore a sleeve of blue and red tattoos.

“Who’s that beef-cake?”

Rosie giggled.
“That’s Kitten.”

Under the table, Stuart clenched his fist in a jump of exhilaration. He wondered whether he’d be able to steal Rosie’s phone without her knowledge. Probably not…

Stuart made interested noises and Rosie scrolled through a few more photos. The man called Kitten appeared in several more; in one he was smiling at the camera, the maw of a broken or missing tooth visible far back in the right hand side of his mouth, crows-feet around the dark eyes. Dead eyes – there was nothing there, in the depths. Stuart could feel the first prickle of anticipation as he looked at the man in the photograph. He’d seen eyes like that before. You’re it, mate, he thought. I’ve got you.

“Kitten’s a weird name for a bloke,
” he said, still with a casual note in his voice. Rosie was still scrolling through her pictures, chuckling, occasionally shaking her head.