The Headhunters (8 page)

‘When did you hear that?’

‘This evening on the local news, that nice Sally person. I always think she’d make someone a wonderful daughter.’

‘So you’ve seen
some
TV?’

There was a pause for rapid thought. ‘I expect your father mentioned it. He watches far too much. Do you want to speak to him? He’s in the kitchen trying to boil an egg for me. It’s sure to be like concrete.’

‘Don’t disturb him, then. Just give him my love. I’ll call as soon as I can.’ She usually finished with, ‘Take care,’ but the sentiment might not be appreciated this time.

Strange that the woman at Selsey remained a mystery. You’d think someone would have reported her missing by now, more than two weeks on. Presumably Hen Mallin and her team were studying all reports of missing women. In a way, Jo wanted to know who the victim was, yet at the same time she dreaded finding out. A name and a life and family ties would make her more real, and give the whole experience more potential for lasting trauma.

Lasting trauma? More like Mummy every day, she thought.

She poured herself a glass of red wine and ate her supper listening to local radio. News bulletins came every half hour, but there was nothing about the Selsey woman or the body in the Emsworth Mill Pond. Maybe Fiona was still in the water, condemned to another night. She recalled what DCI Mallin had said about the appearance of a body after a lengthy immersion and then she couldn’t finish the lasagne.

About eight she took the plunge and called Jake’s number.

‘Yes?’

She warmed to his voice, even though it sounded strained. ‘It’s me—Jo.’

‘Hi.’

‘We said we’d stay in touch. I was wondering if you’ve got plans for the weekend.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised, Jake. We spoke in the pub about this. Have the police been onto you again?’

‘No.’

‘That’s all right, then. You sound kind of guarded. I’m a bit frazzled, too, and I’d really like to see you.’ The difficulty dealing with anyone as reticent as Jake was that you were forced into making all the suggestions and so seeming manipulative. ‘Are you free Saturday? I’d enjoy some more time with you.’

‘Where?’

‘I’m still wanting to get up my courage and take a walk along the front at Selsey. We were all set to meet on the day you were picked up by the police.’

‘Selsey?’ He spoke the name as if it was Death Valley.

‘Restoring my confidence. Remember?’

‘Yes.’

It wasn’t clear whether he was confirming the memory or agreeing to meet, but Jo was sure what she had in mind. ‘Shall we say the car park at the end of the High Street?’

‘I suppose.’

‘At two?’

‘All right.’

She was disappointed he wasn’t more animated. Last time they’d spoken she’d thought he was getting confident with her. He sounded uncomfortable now. That experience of being arrested was preying on his mind. Understandable, considering his time in prison.

ON LOCAL radio at ten-thirty the same evening it was announced that a woman’s body had been found in the Mill Pond at Emsworth. She had not yet been formally identified, but she was believed to have been a local resident who had been missing for about a week.

The phone rang shortly after.

‘Did you hear?’ Gemma gasped in end-of-the-world mode. ‘It was on Southern Counties Radio. They found Fiona, just when I was starting to convince myself we imagined it. She’s dead, Jo. It really happened. I’m clawing at the walls here, I feel so guilty.’ No problem over poor communication from this caller.

Gemma seemed to expect a show of panic. Instead, Jo said, ‘We should be pleased they found her, Gem. Personally, I wouldn’t have got much sleep tonight thinking she was still in that water.’

‘Yes, but I’m a prize bitch for trying to get her in trouble at work. That dumb trick with the council leaflets makes me squirm.’

‘That dumb trick wasn’t your idea. Anyway, she didn’t find out about it. She wasn’t there all week.’

‘Even so, it’s bound to come out, isn’t it?’

‘There’s no reason why it should if you do what I said and get them pulped. If anyone wonders what you’re doing it’s going to look like an act of kindness. She made a blunder and you’re quietly covering up out of consideration for her memory.’

‘That’s good. No, it’s bloody brilliant. I didn’t think of it that way.’

‘Stay cool, Gem.’

OUT ON the beach where it shelved steeply Hen Mallin treated herself to an intake of ozone mixed with nicotine whilst listening to the small pebbles being raked by the tide. She had a flat scallop shell in her hand and was using it as an ashtray, over-fastidious, but smokers have learned to cover their tracks. She kept a tiny spray of Ralph Lauren’s Romance for when she needed to suppress the fumes. Behind her, the mobile incident room was being tidied prior to removal. She’d decided this abomination was serving no useful purpose here on the beach. The fingertip searches, the appeals for witnesses, had been tried with limited success. Some of the staff had been so underemployed that she’d seen them down at the water’s edge playing ducks and drakes. Little was in the computer system except the statements by the woman who had found the body and the two local men known to have been on the beach at the time: Ferdy Hamilton, the dog-walker, and Jake Kernow, the ex-con. Hamilton was the nearest they’d got to finding an informant. He’d named Jake as a suspicious character he’d seen along the beach on the morning the body was found. Jake was the big, laconic fellow who had been tracked down, interviewed, and put through the ID parade, but with a negative result. That didn’t mean he was in the clear. Jo Stevens had failed to pick him out, that was all. He remained the only suspect. With his prison record and his shifty responses under questioning he had to be a serious contender. But there wasn’t enough to charge him, and no one else had come knocking at the door of the mobile incident room with names.

She heard the shingle being crunched behind her as one of the team approached.

‘Saying goodbye to it, guv?’ Stella said.

‘Damn good thing, too,’ Hen said. ‘Let it go back to being a beach instead of a crime scene.’

‘Don’t you think people will remember?’

‘Not for long. The tides come and go. The whole thing changes. By next summer there’ll be children bathing from here.’

‘And we’ll have put the case to bed?’

‘Don’t count on it. This one could stay unsolved.’

‘I hope not. It’s an ugly crime.’

‘Too bloody true.’ Hen had been locked for too long in her own morbid thoughts. Sharing them was a relief. ‘I was watching the waves and thinking about the physical and mental demands of holding someone under the water until they stop breathing. Apparently death by drowning can take all of five minutes. Longer, even. Can you imagine holding someone under for that long?’

Stella gave a shudder. ‘Slow murder. Horrible.’

‘Different from pulling a trigger or knifing them. Plenty of time to think about what you’re doing. You’d have to be pitiless.’

‘Imagine being the victim, held for that long.’

‘Yes, you’d fight for your life, but it wouldn’t be easy. All your efforts are constricted by the water. You might inflict some scratches or bruises, but if your killer has a good grip, it must be bloody hard to break free.’

‘I’d give it a go.’

‘Anyone would. You’re also trying to hold your breath until you have to let go and give way to the inrush of water into your lungs. You’re panicking and getting weaker all the time. To be honest, Stell, this is the first case of homicide by drowning I’ve had to deal with, and it gives me the creeps just thinking about it. They’re mercifully rare. Pathologists don’t like them, either. Drowning is difficult to prove at post mortem.’

‘You’d think it would be obvious.’

‘For one thing—and this is what I learned from the guy who did the autopsy—a fresh water drowning produces a reaction quite different from sea water. The blood volume increases rapidly when fresh water pours into the lungs and there’s a strong chance of it causing a heart attack. It can be quick, very quick, if there’s a cardiac arrest, as there often is, from the shock. Then they die from submersion, rather than drowning. But almost the opposite happens in the sea. Water is sucked from the plasma into the lungs, so the heart isn’t under the same strain. Your chance of survival is higher in the sea.’

‘Plenty of people do drown.’

‘I’m not disputing that. You’re more likely to have an accident at sea than you are in the bath at home or the local pool. I’m simply saying that if you’re immersed in salt water you may last longer. When someone holds you down the result is the same; it takes more time, that’s all.’

‘I suppose if they first got you drunk, or drugged, it would be quicker.’

‘True.’

‘Do we know the time of death?’

‘You’re joking, of course. Does a pathologist ever give you a time of death? They can only make informed guesses. The body was found between eight and nine in the morning, so it’s likely she was killed the evening before, or during the night, or in the early hours of daylight.’

‘The reason I asked is that if she was given alcohol or drugs it could have been at some kind of beach party the night before. It was a warm September night, wasn’t it?’

‘Warm enough for a barbie, yes.’

‘But no signs of one? Was any alcohol found in the body?’

‘A small amount. The signs are that she hadn’t had much.’

‘Except that she’d stripped almost naked. I’d need a few drinks before I did that on a public beach. Even on a dark night.’

‘I’d have to be out of my head,’ Hen said.

‘Moon bathing, guv. You must have tried it some time.’

Hen returned the cigar to her lips and visited old times. ‘Once in my youth—and in a decent one-piece costume. I’m an Essex girl. The only beach I knew was Southend. I wouldn’t recommend romping in the nude there.’

‘Do you think he undressed her?’

‘The heavy seduction scene? I can’t picture it happening. It’s much more likely the stripping was voluntary on her part. If, say, we forget the moon bathing and think about an early morning photo call, our lady there to have her picture taken, a boob shot, she might have agreed to strip down to her pants.’

‘Back to the calendar idea?’ Stella asked.

‘Or some sort of glamour picture. We agreed she wasn’t young enough to be working as a model, but any woman in her thirties is vulnerable to some guy with a camera suggesting she’d look gorgeous flashing her tits.’

‘I still favour the midnight bathing. They go skinny dipping and—just like you—she’s too shy to do it in the buff so she keeps her pants on.’

‘Either way, there’s a nasty element of deception. She’s conned into stripping off by someone she trusts. She’d be crazy to do it for a stranger.’

‘Is it possible he removed the clothes after the drowning?’

‘Why would he do that? To make identification more difficult, I suppose.’ Hen weighed the possibility for a moment. ‘It’s not out of the question, but I can’t see it. Struggling with wet clothes wouldn’t be easy or quick. Any killer’s impulse is to quit the scene as soon as possible. And why would she enter the water fully clothed?’

‘Dragged in?’

Hen pulled a sceptical face.

‘I guess you’re right,’ Stella said. ‘It’s pretty unlikely.’

‘It’s all unlikely until we find out who she was and why she was there.’

‘I came down to say that we’re about ready to move off.’

‘Let’s go, then.’ She stubbed out the cigar and felt for her scent spray. ‘Things can only get better.’

eight

WHEN THE CALL CAME, early Saturday morning, Stella Gregson was at the window of the relocated incident room in Chichester Police Station looking out at the car roofs and thinking East Beach had its attractions. A sudden movement from behind her was reflected in the glass. DC Gary Pearce was waving frantically. He couldn’t shout because he was on the phone.

Stella picked up another receiver and was instantly all attention. An educated voice was saying, ‘ . . . got back from St Petersburg last night and she wasn’t here and there was no message, so I called a few people and no one could tell me anything. We don’t live in each other’s pockets, but I was surprised and a little concerned. I decided to sleep on it and this morning I phoned my local police station and gave a description. They put me through to someone else and I’ve been transferred several times and now I’m being asked to go through it all again with you.’

Offering a silent prayer that they’d finally nailed it, Stella took over. ‘Thank you, sir. This is Stella Gregson, Detective Inspector, Chichester CID.’

‘Did you say Chichester?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can’t think why I’ve been put through to you.’

‘Forgive me, I just came in on the call,’ she said. ‘Thank you for getting in touch. I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Austen Sentinel. It’s about my wife Meredith. She’s missing.’

‘And you’re from?’

‘London, that is to say, Islington.’

‘You were saying you’ve been abroad?’

‘A British Council trip to Russia for a conference. I’m a geologist at Imperial College and I’m speaking from London. Look, we’re wasting each other’s time if you’re in Chichester.’

‘Not necessarily. Would your wife have visited Selsey lately?’

‘Selsey, on the south coast? Not to my knowledge. Why?’

‘Would you describe her?’

‘For the umpteenth time this morning? Five foot six, thirty-seven years of age, hair coloured blonde, slimly built. She’s from Kentucky, so she speaks with an American accent.’

She won’t be speaking to us, Stella thought.

‘But I’ve no idea what clothes she’s wearing.’

And that’s not a problem, Stella thought, but kept it to herself. ‘Do you have a computer, sir?’

‘What’s that got to do with Merry?’

‘It will speed things up.’

‘I’m sitting in front of one.’

‘Could you send us a jpeg of your wife?’

‘I’m with you now. Yes, there are several on the machine.’

‘Have you got a pen and paper there? I’ll give you an email address. Then if you send it right away we’ll know if we’re talking about the same person.’

‘Do you know where she is, then? Is she all right?’

‘Be patient with me, sir. We can’t confirm anything until we’ve seen the photo. Hold the line for a bit. I’ll need your contact details.’

GEMMA DIDN’T appear in Starbucks at the usual time so Jo carried her coffee to one of the side tables, sat in an upright chair, and waited. The chatter from other tables, the music—the pure, warm sound of Ella in her prime—even the caffeine, did nothing to relax her. She was increasingly troubled.

‘Hi, babe.’

She jerked and slopped some coffee.

‘Easy,’ he said, seating himself across from her. ‘Anyone would think I was the law.’

Rick.

She asked what he was doing there.

‘It’s Saturday and I’m off work and this is a coffee shop and I happen to know you. Is that enough?’ he said. ‘No? Well, I’ll come clean. I was sent to find you.’

‘By Gemma?’

‘She called this morning and updated me on the Emsworth episode.’

Just as predicted, Jo thought bitterly. Big-mouth Gemma ignoring the pact of secrecy at the first opportunity.

‘So here I am, ready to pass on a message,’ Rick said, and stopped, insisting on a response.

‘Well?’

‘She can’t meet you because she was called to the print works. The police are there wanting to talk about Fiona.’

Typical Rick: playing on her nerves. Jo tried to appear unmoved.

In case she’d missed the point, Rick added, ‘There isn’t any doubt now. It was definitely Fiona’s body you saw in the Mill Pond yesterday.’ He watched her with expressionless eyes for a moment, then reverted to the role of friend. ‘Listen, I’ll get a coffee and join you.’

Obviously he knew everything. She felt like throttling Gemma. What was it she’d said with such sincerity about the incident being erased, deleted, wiped? And that was after she’d been warned not to tell Rick.

But Rick was spilt milk now. Real trouble was looming and she had no influence over it. She didn’t think of herself as a controlling person, but she felt helpless and alarmed about what Gemma might be saying to the police.

She tried telling herself the two of them had committed no great crime. She wasn’t even certain that failure to report a body in a millpond
was
a crime. It was more of a civic duty. Okay, they’d shirked their responsibility. Had anyone suffered as a result? Fiona had been long dead when they’d spotted her. They weren’t the first to turn their backs on a scene of sudden death. Surely the guilt she and Gemma shared was moral, not criminal?

Rick returned, Americano in hand, and sat opposite, enjoying himself, eyes like wasps over a cream tea. This morning he was another species from the wimp she’d shared the taxi with the last time she’d seen him, at the end of that evening at the cinema. Being in on the secret of their discovery in Emsworth had acted like something pumped into a main vein.

‘Lighten up, little lady,’ he said, at his most patronising. ‘I’m not going to shop you. I’m a friend, remember?’

She stared through him.

‘Besides, the police won’t be interested in you and Gem doing a runner. They’ve got more important stuff to find out, like how the body got in there in the first place. I think the boss man— what’s his name? Cartwright—has to be the main suspect. He’s done a runner himself by the sound of things. What a lamebrain. It’s no way to cover up a crime.’

‘We don’t know it was a crime,’ Jo said. ‘It could have been an accident.’

‘Get real, Jo. Cartwright killed her. They’ll find out why. Maybe she was pregnant and he didn’t want his wife to find out.’

‘There isn’t a wife as far as I know.’

‘Who told you that, Gemma? I wouldn’t bank on anything she says. When the imagination was being given out, Gem got a triple helping. Don’t get me wrong. She’s great company, but I take anything she says with a pinch of salt.’

‘What did she tell you about Fiona?’

‘That she was making a play for Cartwright and putting Gem’s job under threat.’

‘She said the same to me and I believe her. Fiona has a child. Did you know that?’

‘Poor little brat, yes.’

‘That’s why we went to her house, for the sake of the little boy, in case she’d had an accident, or worse, and he was with her. We called the police and they made a search.’

‘I know all this.’

‘They weren’t inside. The boy must be staying with the father.’

‘You don’t have to convince me, of all people,’ Rick said as if he could walk on water. ‘I don’t think you guys murdered her.’ He followed that with a sly smile. ‘You were planning to bump off her boss. Take it from me, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you drinking coffee if Cartwright’s body had been found.’

‘Don’t joke about it.’

‘You’re so wound up this morning.’

‘I’ve reason to be.’

‘Why?’

She felt so isolated that telling Rick—even Rick—might be a crumb of comfort. ‘You heard about the dead woman I found on Selsey beach? The police gave me a really hard time over that, like I was holding back information.’

‘That woman was murdered, wasn’t she? You don’t want to take it personally because they fired some questions at you. They’ve got their job to do.’

‘I know, but if it gets back to them that I found another body, they’ll give me the third degree. I’m worried sick what Gemma might be saying to them.’

‘If they come knocking at your door, you just have to tell the truth. Stuff happens, as the man said about the war.’

She nodded. She wasn’t going to tell Rick about the print order she and Gemma had sabotaged to try and get Fiona into trouble. He might have had heard about that already, but he hadn’t mentioned anything yet, so maybe Gemma had
for once
had the sense to keep something to herself. ‘I’m hoping they treat Fiona’s death as an accident.’

‘Dream on.’ He couldn’t resist another twist of the knife.

‘You don’t think they will?’

‘What you have to hope is that she had no marks. The woman on the beach was marked, wasn’t she?’

‘So they told me. Bruises on the neck that showed she was held under the water. But the two cases aren’t similar. The woman I found was nude except for her knickers. Fiona was fully dressed.’

‘They both ended up in water. That’s one thing they had in common. And they were both discovered by you. That’s the other.’

‘Pure chance.’

‘Sure.’ He gave that evil grin again.

‘I didn’t even know Fiona,’ Jo said, goaded by him. ‘And nobody knows who the other woman is. They’re appealing for help.’

‘They should show her face on TV. Someone would know her. The face wasn’t damaged, was it?’

‘I don’t think so, but I didn’t look. I saw the back of her head, and that was more than I wanted to see.’

He leaned forward on his elbows, his face a foot away from hers. ‘So you can’t be certain if you knew her?’

‘Come on, Rick. There’s no reason I should have known her. It was a chance discovery.’

‘Be strange, wouldn’t it, if that corpse was someone you knew?’

‘Highly unlikely.’

He pointed to her mug. ‘Care for a top-up?’

‘No. When are you seeing Gem again?’

‘Tonight, supposedly, if she’s still in the mood to go clubbing.’ He drew back from the table, trying to appear less confrontational. ‘How about you? I heard you were getting friendly with the big, silent guy.’

‘Jake? I had a drink with him the other evening.’

He smiled. ‘A drink and two words. Or did he manage three?’

‘He’s okay. Not everyone has your gift of gab, Rick.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Life hasn’t been easy for Jake.’

‘So we make allowances, is that it?’

‘No, but you don’t have to pick on him at every opportunity. When we meet again as a foursome, as I hope we will, it would be good if we could all be more relaxed with each other.’

He tilted his head and ran his fingers down the stubble on his cheek. ‘“Life hasn’t been easy.” The big guy’s got to you, hasn’t he? I missed a trick here. Should have told you how my wicked stepmother threw out my teddy bear and made me join the boy scouts. I might have got my leg over.’

‘A knee in your groin.’

‘Charming.’

‘And your ouch would have been heard in Australia.’

‘I’m outta here. I only came to pass on the message.’

HEN COMPARED the jpeg of Mrs Sentinel with the photo they had of the woman in the mortuary. ‘No question,’ she announced to everyone in the incident room. ‘It’s our mystery woman. Nice work, everyone. Let’s treat ourselves to a lunchtime drink.’

‘Don’t know about that, boss,’ Stella said. ‘The husband, Dr Sentinel, is on his way. Should be here in another hour.’

‘The rest of you can get a drink, then. Stella and I will be offering condolences.’ She lowered her voice for Stella alone. ‘We celebrate later. You gave him the bad news?’

‘I said there was a resemblance.’

‘So now he knows we have a dead woman here. Does he also know she was murdered?’

Stella took this as criticism. ‘There was no point in being mysterious about it. The rest of Britain knows it’s a murder.’

‘He didn’t?’

‘He’s been abroad, hasn’t he? Someone was going to tell him.’

‘Was he shocked?’

‘Disbelieving.’

‘Kept his cool, then. What’s he like?’

‘Toffee-nosed, if I’m any judge, but I suppose he would sound like that to one of the plod, with all his education,’ Stella said. ‘He seemed to think it was a bit off, his wife being killed down here.’

‘He’d have preferred the stockbroker belt?’

The remark was meant to ease the stiffness between them. Stella took it for what it was, smiled and shrugged. ‘Quite possibly.’

‘Does he have any explanation?’

‘For her death? No. They haven’t spoken on the phone since he flew to St Petersburg three weeks ago. He’s often away at conferences, he said, and he doesn’t call her, phoning from hotels being such a rip-off.’

‘Were those his exact words?’

‘I was giving the sense of them. He said “exorbitant.”’

‘He must have a mobile.’

‘“The price of using one from Russia is iniquitous.” His words.’

Hen shaped her lips into a silent whistle. ‘Has the romance gone out of this marriage, by any chance?’

‘His wife wasn’t wearing a ring.’

‘I wouldn’t read too much into that, Stell. A lot of wives don’t.’

‘You’re giving him the benefit of the doubt, are you, guv?’

‘Well, he cared enough to make enquiries. And he’s wasting no time in coming here.’

‘To make a good impression, maybe?’

‘He doesn’t seem to be succeeding with you. What’s wrong with the guy?’

‘You know what voices are like on the phone. You can tell a lot.’

‘Are you suggesting he might have a guilty conscience? I can’t think why, when he has a cast-iron alibi.’

‘It’s not unknown for a spouse to hire a hitman.’

This earned a chuckle from Hen. ‘So we have a theory already, and we haven’t even met the poor sod. Give him a chance, Stell.’

‘The main thing is, we know who our victim is.’

‘Yes,’ Hen said, ‘I knew our luck would change when we got out of that lousy caravan.’

JAKE WAS waiting at the entrance to the beach car park when Jo drove in. Good thing he was so tall, because she wouldn’t have known him otherwise. He was in a navy blue jacket with the hood over his head like a boxer ready to enter the arena. Maybe he thought of this outing as a contest. She hoped not. More likely he wanted to be inconspicuous. Difficult when you’re six foot six.

‘We made it this time,’ she said.

‘You made it last time.’ His response came fast and free, a promising start.