The Headhunters (5 page)

‘Fine.’

‘I know I can trust you not to blurt it out. Can’t count on Rick keeping it to himself. Know what I mean?’

‘Understood.’

‘I’ve nothing against him. He’s fun to be with, but I’ve got to keep this schtum. I mean, it doesn’t reflect very well on me. I don’t mind you knowing because it was all your idea.’

‘As you keep reminding me.’

‘That’s me accounted for, then,’ Gemma said. ‘How about you and old motormouth? Are you two an item yet?’

‘Hardly.’ Jo felt the colour rise. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

‘Come on, babe, it’s obvious you fancy him something wicked. Look at you now, a poinsettia in full bloom.’

‘You’re so wrong.’

‘Don’t mind me. Just because I call him names it doesn’t mean a thing. I’m always slagging off blokes. It’s a sport. You’ve got to make the first move, you know. He’s chronically shy. If you wait for him to ask, you’ll still be waiting when you get your bus pass. Fix a time and place and tell him to be there.’

Jo didn’t enlighten her about Selsey. ‘He isn’t interested.’

‘Bet he is. Want me to find out?’

‘No,’ Jo said sharply. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Look at the state you’re in. Simmer down, babe. You’ve got it bad, haven’t you? All right, do it your way. I won’t interfere.’

‘You’ve got this all wrong.’

‘I’m sure. Be funny, wouldn’t it, if we swapped blokes?’

‘Oh, hilarious,’ Jo said.

BACK AT home the light was winking on the answerphone. She pressed it before taking off her coat. The voice was not Jake’s. It was female. And familiar.

‘Miss Stevens? Hen Mallin—DCI Mallin. We spoke the other day. Give me a call directly you get back, would you?’ She gave the number.

What did they want now? Jo hung up her coat and looked at the mail. Junk, all of it. Nothing with a local postmark.

She went back to the phone.

‘Thank you for calling in, my dear,’ Hen Mallin said, all sweetness and light now. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask. When you told us about finding the body at Selsey you mentioned seeing a couple of men.’

‘Did I?’

‘The one in the tracksuit and the one with the dog. What I’d like is for you to see if you can recognise the jogger.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Pick him out from a line-up. An identification parade.’

Jo gasped and her mouth went dry. ‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see him well enough for that.’

‘When you get a proper look at him again, you might find it refreshes your memory. No pressure. It’s all done through one-way glass and you get a cup of tea if you want.’

‘But the people I saw just happened to be out for a walk that morning like me. They weren’t acting suspiciously or anything.’

‘Understood. They’re probably innocent, but we do need to eliminate them from our enquiry, and only you can help. I’ll send a car. It will take a couple of hours to set this up. We’ll pick you up about four-thirty.’

How could she refuse? She wished she’d left that beach without reporting what she’d found. You just don’t know what it will lead to when you help the police.

SHE WAS still trying to think of a get-out when the police car drew up outside the flat. She hated the idea of fingering someone who might be innocent.

They’d sent a chatty policewoman to fetch her. She was worse than some taxidrivers, on about the government and public sector pay rates and the price of housing and the problems of immigration. When Jo stepped out of the car in the police station yard she scattered umpteen shreds of paper tissue on the ground. She hadn’t noticed herself doing it.

Hen Mallin greeted her like an old friend and took her upstairs. ‘I won’t be at your side, I’m afraid,’ she said, as if that would disappoint. ‘The rules require that you’re taken in by an identification officer who isn’t on the investigation.’

‘I’ve given this a lot of thought—’ Jo started to say.

‘Not a good idea,’ Hen said. ‘Relax. You’ll know at once if you recognise the guy. The eyes have it, as they say—much better than trying to remember.’

‘I don’t want to do it.’

‘No one ever does. Look at it this way. It’s better than a visit to the mortuary. We’re not asking you to identify the corpse.’

There seemed to be no option. Hen introduced her to Sergeant Malcolm, a young man looking more anxious than Jo was. ‘My first time,’ he said.

‘Mine, too.’

‘There’s a gentleman in there already. He’s a solicitor. It’s important this is done properly or he’ll be down on me like the proverbial ton of bricks. The parade is also being videoed. When we go in you’ll be shown nine men, including the suspect.’

‘Suspect?’ Jo said. ‘Have you arrested someone?’

‘That’s the whole point of this.’

‘Then I don’t want to do it. Definitely.’

‘You can’t back out now,’ Sergeant Malcolm said in alarm. ‘All these people have given up their time. The solicitor came in specially. It isn’t scary at all, not for you. They can’t see you.’

‘What if I don’t recognise any of them?’

‘Not your problem. You’ll help me, won’t you, miss?’

‘If I must.’

‘Each of them has a number. When you identify anyone, you just say the number. But please take a really good look at each of them. Walk along the line twice, at least, and take as much time as you want. Ready?’ He opened a door.

It was almost dark in there. She was aware of a man in a suit standing at the opposite end, and someone with a camera. Then some lights came on and the area to her right was revealed through glass.

Her stomach lurched. She was facing a row of nine men, and the third one in was Jake.

five

HER EYES MISTED OVER. She blinked several times. She wasn’t mistaken.

‘You’re supposed to walk the line, miss,’ Sergeant Malcolm said.

Confused emotions bombarded her. Jake looked dreadful, as if he hadn’t slept for two days. He seemed to be dressed to make him an object of ridicule, in a skimpy grey fleece zipped to his throat and black tracksuit trousers that didn’t even reach to his socks. She wanted to speak to him, but they were divided by soundproof one-way glass.

‘Take a good look at each one.’

Her impulse was to tell the sergeant they’d made a dreadful mistake and Jake shouldn’t be there. He was a good man, not a murderer. He cared about the living world and the ecology. No way would he take another person’s life.

Better judgement ruled. She stayed silent and tried to make a cool assessment. Innocent men were brought in off the streets to make up the number on these parades. The police dressed them to match a witness’s description. Now that she took a wider view this entire line-up had ill-fitting tops and tracksuit trousers like Jake’s and she remembered giving DCI Mallin a description of the man she’d passed that day at Selsey. Well, one thing was certain: that guy wasn’t Jake. Only through coincidence had Jake been brought in. Probably he’d come into town for the afternoon and some policeman had picked him at random and asked him to take part.

Convincing?

Not really, she thought. I can see the strain in his face. He’s their suspect and the rest are there because they faintly resemble him. Tall, dark men, not one of them anything like the man she remembered seeing.

‘Make a start, miss.’

Her anger mixed with fear as she forced herself to glance at the first man. A white card with the number one was on the floor in front of him. She’d never seen him before. He looked faintly bored. So did number two.

She took a deep breath and moved on. It was painful looking at Jake. His eyes were red-lidded and dark all round. Stress lines at the side of his mouth made him seem twice his age.

She stepped past him, trying to appear unaffected. All the others seemed untroubled, indifferent to this whole procedure. No one was stressed and exhausted like Jake.

‘Take your time. No need to hurry.’

Her thoughts still in turmoil, she started walking back.

‘You’re not facing them, miss. You’re supposed to look at them all at least twice.’

She didn’t trust herself to speak. Her throat ached. To satisfy the rules she paused in front of each man and gave another glance. Except for Jake. She couldn’t bear to look into his face again, so she fixed her eyes at the level of his chest. When she reached the end of the line she faced Sergeant Malcolm and shook her head. It was the truth. She hadn’t seen any of them at Selsey.

‘For the record, would you mind saying if you recognised one of these men?’

The way he put the question sounded like a trap. If they could choose their words, then so could she. And still speak the truth. ‘I saw two men at the beach and they aren’t here.’

‘Are you quite sure, miss?’

She nodded.

He glanced at the solicitor, who shrugged and spread his hands.

‘Would you like to walk the line one more time?’

She shook her head.

DS Malcolm held open the door and she came out. He offered tea. She needed something to calm her jangled nerves. On the way down to the canteen he said, ‘It’s not too late to say if you spotted one of them. You can tell me now and I’ll inform the solicitor.’

To emphasise the truth of what she was saying, she stopped on the stairs, looked straight at him and spaced her words. ‘They were not the men I saw at the beach.’

‘I thought you reacted to one of them.’

This time she couldn’t be as truthful. She turned away and moved on again. ‘It was the situation. I wasn’t comfortable being so close and having them stare straight through me.’

In the canteen, her spirits plunged. A small familiar figure was waiting at a table with a teapot and cups. Hen Mallin stood to greet them, eyes wide in anticipation.

Sergeant Malcolm shook his head.

The start of a smile turned into a puzzled frown. ‘You’d better get back, then. You’ve got work to do.’

The sergeant nodded to Jo and left her with Hen Mallin.

‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Black, without, please.’

‘Help yourself.’

She poured it and slopped some in the saucer.

‘So you weren’t able to help?’ Hen said with a sharp note of accusation.

‘I did what I was asked.’

‘A waste of everyone’s time.’

That stung her. ‘I can’t think why, if it proves you’ve got the wrong man.’

‘It doesn’t prove anything,’ Hen pointed out, ‘except that you didn’t see the killer. Apparently.’

‘All I saw at Selsey were people acting normally. God knows why you asked me here. It’s not as if I witnessed the murder.’

‘You placed two men near enough to the scene to be of interest to us. If you’d picked out the suspect we’d be a damned sight closer to charging him. We’ll have to release him now. There’s a limit to how long we can hold a man and we’ve just about reached it.’

‘Don’t you have any other witnesses?’

Hen watched her, level-eyed. ‘There is one actually.’

Jo suppressed the spasm of panic she felt. ‘Did they see the woman killed?’

‘Christ, no. If we’d got that lucky we wouldn’t need you. Just some guy who was out walking that afternoon like you and gave us a description.’

‘And did he identify the man?’

‘In a parade, you mean? No need.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s local, like the suspect. He gave us the name of the bastard.’

BACK IN her flat, she tried to calm herself enough to get a sense of what had been going on. She was in no doubt as to whom their suspect was. She’d never seen anyone so shattered, looking just as you would after hours of questioning. The only conceivable reason for putting Jake through this ordeal was that the other witness must have seen him on the front at Selsey that fatal morning.

Jo couldn’t think how she had missed him.

Was one sighting enough for them to pull him in as a suspected killer?

They’d need more. What else had they got on Jake? Whatever it was, it could only be circumstantial. Maybe he was linked in some way to the victim. Had they managed to identify the dead woman? She hadn’t asked, and they weren’t telling.

Out of all this wretched business there was one consolation. She now understood why Jake had failed to meet her at Selsey yesterday. Not because he’d forgotten, or lost interest. It could only be because they’d arrested him.

Whatever the police suspected, she was sure Jake was innocent and he would get her backing. Poor guy, he needed oceans of support after this. Unfortunately there was a difficulty. She didn’t have his address or phone number. And it was too late in the day to phone his work and leave a message.

She spent the next hour trying to think of ways of contacting him. The police had said they couldn’t hold him any longer, so he’d be home by now. How frustrating was that?

JUST BEFORE seven, her phone rang. She picked it up and gave her name. At first no one answered. She waited in dread that it was only a cold call, someone in India trying to sell her cheap electricity.

Then a man’s voice said, ‘Sorry about yesterday.’ And she knew instantly who it was.

‘Jake. How are you?’

‘In a spot of trouble.’

‘I know. I know all about it.’

‘You do?’

‘I was there today for that stupid identification parade.’

‘You?’ There was a pause, then a despairing, ‘Oh, Christ.’

‘They made me do it because it was me who discovered the body on the beach. I was supposed to see if I recognised one of the men I’d seen. Jake, it freaked me out when I saw you in the line-up. God knows what the police think they’re doing. Anyway, you’re home, are you?’

‘Mm.’ He sounded preoccupied, still absorbing what she’d told him.

‘How did you get my number?’ she asked.

‘Number?’

‘The phone. I’m ex-directory.’ How it was done didn’t matter squat, but talking about it was giving her time to get her own jumbled thoughts in order and decide what to say next.

‘Gemma,’ he said.

‘Of course. Good old Gem. She’s in the book. She put you onto me. I really appreciate this call, Jake.’

‘Can we meet?’

‘Meet?’ Her pulse quickened. ‘I’d love to.’

‘To talk.’

‘I understand. All right. When? Tomorrow?’

‘Tonight.’

‘Are you sure? You looked out on your feet.’

‘A pub would do.’

‘What’s the one near the beach in Selsey? The Lifeboat Inn.’

‘I can come to Chichester.’

‘I won’t hear of it after all you’ve been through,’ she told him. ‘Selsey. Definitely Selsey.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Eight-thirty in the Lifeboat?’

HE WAS already at a corner table with a pint in front of him when she arrived. The sight of him here, a free man again, was a huge reassurance. The dark rings were still around his eyes, but some of the strain had gone from his face. She said she’d have a tonic.

‘How long did they hold you at the police station?’ she asked when he put the drink in front of her.

‘Since yesterday morning.’

‘Oh my God. Is that legal?’

He nodded.

‘But you haven’t done anything.’

‘It’s a murder case.’

‘They told me you were seen by someone at the beach the day I found the body,’ she said. ‘Surely that isn’t enough for them to arrest you. Were you really there? I didn’t spot you.’

‘Thought I might get lucky,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said . . . ’ The words stopped coming.

‘Go on.’

‘ . . . you walk there sometimes.’

Her heart felt like Big Ben striking. ‘You were there because of me?’

He shrugged. ‘Anyway, it’s not a bad place to walk. Normally.’

If his remark was meant in humour, it escaped her. She was seized by the need to let him know she’d shared his idea. ‘That’s why I went, in hope of meeting you. How could we have missed each other? Jake, I’m sorry. If I’d known you were about, I wouldn’t have gone back to the car. Do you know who it was who spotted you?’

‘Some local guy.’

‘And what was he doing there?’

‘Walking his poodle dog.’

‘Him! In combat clothes. I saw him. I told the police about him, but they didn’t show any interest.’

‘He knows who I am.’

‘It doesn’t mean he’s in the clear. He could be shifting the interest away from himself. I was really shocked when I saw you in that line-up. Did they rough you up? You looked awful.’

His mouth twitched into a half-smile. ‘So what’s new?’

‘I don’t suppose you slept at all. They should have found out in the first two minutes that you had nothing to do with it.’

He sighed and stared into his drink. The broad shoulders sagged. ‘There’s something you don’t know.’

Her skin prickled. Were the new shoots of joy about to be trampled? She was so certain he was a decent man, unfairly accused.

He said, ‘I’ve got form.’

‘What?’

‘A record. Been in prison.’

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Tell me.’

‘When I was nineteen . . . ’ He primed himself with a sip of beer. ‘When I was nineteen, in Cornwall, there was a main road built near where I lived, a bypass.’

She nodded, but so much was going on in her own shocked brain that she was hearing his voice as a distant sound.

He passed a hand over his head and held it against the back of his neck. He was making a terrific effort to speak more than his usual few words. Gaps came between sentences, but he persevered and Jo heard him out. ‘I was against it. Habitats were under threat. Trees, ecosystems . . . I joined the protesters. We set up camp, lived rough, in the trees. Said the developers would have to kill us if they felled the trees. That didn’t stop them. . . . They sent in the police, then the army. Ordered us down through loudhailers. We refused, but they had the equipment.’ He paused for longer at this point. The words had been flowing more than anything he’d communicated before. ‘It was no contest. I’m lashed to a branch in a sixty-foot beech. Three squaddies come for me. I try to hold them off, but one gets a grip on my foot. I stick my free boot against his shoulder and brace my leg. He falls off. He’s on ropes, but he hits a branch and breaks his spine. Paralysed.’

Jo had a vivid picture in her head. She whispered, ‘What a nightmare.’

‘Lots of people saw. It was filmed. They got me down soon after. Threw me into a van with the others. Charged me. Grievous bodily harm. When it came to court . . . ’ He paused to summon up more words. ‘In court the judge said the injury warranted a long custodial sentence.’

‘Jake, how horrible.’

‘On top of that, I was acting unlawfully by resisting arrest. But he said there was doubt about the intent. I got two years.’

‘That’s awful.’

‘Not so awful as spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair.’

‘I suppose. But you didn’t mean that to happen.’

‘If I hadn’t put up a fight he’d be okay.’

‘You were young and idealistic. Committed to the cause.’