The Honeytrap: Part 4 (3 page)

It was another quarter of an hour before a squad car arrived and swept on to the forecourt of the flats. ‘At last!’ Jess said. She was instantly alert, every nerve end tingling with fear and anticipation. She watched as the three uniformed officers got out, went to the front door and rang the bell. Seconds later they were inside and climbing up the stairs. Her heart began to thump in her chest. Was this it? Would they find Sylvie inside and bring her down? ‘Please God,’ she prayed. ‘Let her be okay.’

Jess got out of the car and crossed the road. She waited by the front door, tense and anxious. She bit down on her lower lip, raked her fingers through her hair and hopped impatiently from one foot to the other. Each minute that passed felt like an eternity. ‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered.

And then, finally, she got what she wished for. A bright light went on in the stairwell and the officers reappeared, accompanied by a young blonde woman. For a moment Jess thought it was Sylvie. ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed. But her joy was short-lived. As the four of them reached the foyer, she realised she’d been mistaken. The girl was slim and fair-haired but she wasn’t Sylvie Durand.

Jess stared as the stranger came out of the door, disappointment sweeping over her. She peered around the officers in the vain hope that Sylvie might be following behind but there was no one there. As the girl was led towards the squad car – no handcuffs, she noticed – Jess was unable to contain herself. ‘Where’s Sylvie?’ she demanded loudly. ‘What have you done with her?’

The blonde turned and stared, her eyes widening with what could have been surprise or alarm. ‘Who?’

‘You won’t get away with it. Where is she? Tell me!’

One of the officers, an older man with a crew cut, stepped directly in front of Jess as if she might be about to launch a physical attack. He raised his hands in a calming kind of gesture. ‘Okay, okay, what’s going on here?’

Jess tried to rein in her anger. She took a couple of deep breaths before she spoke again.

‘Hi, yes, sorry. I’m Jessica Vaughan. I’m working with Mackenzie, Lind. We’ve been searching for Sylvie Durand. We thought … Wasn’t there any sign of her in the flat? There must have been. Did you search it? Did you search it properly?’

The policeman took her elbow and gently propelled her away from the blonde. ‘Let’s talk over here, shall we?’

They walked a few yards to the side of the flats where four black wheelie bins were lined up like sentries. ‘I’m sorry,’ Jess said again, deciding that a show of contrition was probably in order if she was going to get any useful information. ‘I didn’t mean to … We’re just really worried. She’s been missing since Saturday and … Well, you already know all this. I was certain she was here.’

‘She isn’t,’ he said. ‘I can assure you of that. But we’ll be talking to Ms Riggs down at the station. If she can provide us with any more information, we’ll let you know.’

‘Thank you. We’d appreciate that.’ Jess glanced over at the squad car. The blonde was now safely ensconced in the back, chatting away to the two other officers. She didn’t look especially worried, but maybe she was the cool type.

The cop gave Jess a nod. ‘Probably best to get off home and leave it to us, yeah?’

‘Sure. I’ll do that.’

‘You lot must have enough on your minds without all this.’

‘Us lot?’

‘Mackenzie, Lind. I heard about your boss.’

Jess didn’t correct him as regards her employment status. If she’d been honest about being a journalist, he wouldn’t have told her anything. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Harry Lind.’

‘What about him?’

‘Don’t you know? He’s down at Cowan Road. He’s been arrested for murder.’

Jess’s mouth fell open.

Harry Lind had that déjà vu feeling. It was only six months since he’d last been in the frame for murder and now it was happening again. Of course he’d known, even as the two cops walked towards him, that being caught in possession of a gun wasn’t going to look good. He’d done the best he could, feigning a nonchalance that probably wouldn’t have fooled a five-year-old. He’d even pretended to be pleased to see them.

‘Ah, you’ve saved me a journey. I was just on my way to the station. I have something for you.’ And he had smiled, proffering the carrier bag like a birthday gift.

Needless to say, his explanation had gone down like a lead balloon. Back at Cowan Road, DI Judith Cobb had actually winced as he’d claimed that the revolver had been pushed through the door of Mackenzie, Lind.

‘And why would anyone do that?’

Harry had shrugged. ‘I presume someone wanted to get rid of it.’

So as not to implicate Mac or Jess, he’d said that the gun must have been posted at some time between them leaving and his own departure at around nine-thirty.

‘And you didn’t think to call the police?’

‘I couldn’t see the point. I was coming down to Cowan Road anyway. Mac – my business partner – was here. He was filing a report about a missing employee.’

‘Sylvie Durand.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Let’s talk some more about Caroline Westwood.’

‘I’ve already told you everything.’

DI Cobb had pursed her lips as if Harry’s connection to these two women and their subsequent fate – one missing, one murdered – had to be more than a coincidence. She had already passed judgement and now she was trying to gather the necessary evidence.

Harry lay back on the hard bunk and gazed at the ceiling. The cells hadn’t got any more comfortable since his last stay. He thought about the interview that had gone on for hours as DI Cobb probed ever deeper. It had been clear from the questions she was asking that she’d already taken statements from the barman and the receptionist at the Lumière.

He mulled this over. The barman, Denis, had witnessed his exchange with Caroline – nothing more than flirtatious banter – and the later knockback. Harry had been resigned rather than angry and hadn’t said anything he regretted now. But had Denis seen things in a different light? He’d got the impression from Cobb that this could well be the case. The redhead on the desk might have stuck the knife in too. What was her name? Kim? He remembered her suspicious eyes and the way she’d looked at him. Her verdict on his odd behaviour would probably be damning.

Harry had been a cop for long enough to know that, whatever had been said, something more solid would be needed if a charge of murder was to be brought. By now the gun would have been sent off to Forensics and the bullets would be compared to the one that had killed Caroline Westwood. The results would come back negative, of that at least he was certain.

There was no way this could be the same gun. Which wasn’t to say that it hadn’t been used in some other crime, but they wouldn’t be able to pin that on him.

His thoughts returned, inevitably, to Ellen Shaw. Why was he so determined to protect her, doing his Sir bloody Lancelot impersonation when only hours ago she’d been standing in his flat, pointing that gun straight at his chest? She had a hold over him that he couldn’t explain. Earlier, when the cops turned up on his doorstep, he’d made an immediate and irrevocable decision to keep her out of it. Why was that? It was easier, perhaps, for him to claim he felt sorry for her than to admit the real depth of his feelings.

There was a dim light on in the cell. He put his hands behind his head and studied the web of cracks that criss-crossed over the plaster ceiling. Some things were beyond reason, beyond logic. Tomorrow, after they had let him go, he would resume his search. She was out there somewhere and he was going to find her.

As Jess entered the offices of Mackenzie, Lind she could feel the tightness in the air, the fraught, strained atmosphere. Mac had gathered the entire staff, including the part-timers, and they were all on the phone or sifting through paperwork. It was like a full-on military operation. The information about Harry being arrested had come as a shock – she hadn’t known about the Westwood case – but it was nothing compared to the news that he was on the brink of being charged.

Mac beckoned her into his office and closed the door behind them. ‘It’s the gun,’ he said without any preamble. ‘Turns out it was the one used to kill Caroline Westwood.’

‘Yes, Lorna told me.’ However, the phone call had been brief and she was still in the dark about most of the details. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘We need to find out where it came from.
Who
it came from. Did you see anyone hanging around when you left last night?’

Jess thought about it for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so. I was only a couple of minutes behind you. Harry said he had something to do, that he’d catch up with me. What does he say about it?’

‘That it was shoved through the door in a carrier bag. That he was on his way to Cowan Road when the boys in blue turned up.’

‘Do you believe him?’

Mac scowled as if she was casting doubt on Harry’s innocence. His voice had a colder, harder edge when he spoke again. ‘Any reason I shouldn’t?’

‘I didn’t mean it like that. God, he isn’t capable of murder. I just …’ She lifted and dropped her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. This stuff about the gun, maybe there’s more to it.’

‘He’s been stitched up, love. That’s the start and finish of it. Whoever killed Caroline Westwood has put him right in the frame. Harry was at the Lumière, he spent time with the victim and now he’s been discovered with the murder weapon in his possession. Someone’s gone to a lot of effort to make him look guilty.’

Jess rubbed her eyes, sore and gritty after a restless night’s sleep. ‘But was it before or after? I mean, do you think this was all planned from the beginning – which could be down to anyone he’s pissed off in the past – or more of an opportunist thing? The killer realised they could shift the focus on to Harry and dumped the gun on him.’

‘There’s no way of knowing right now. We’ve got everyone on it. We’re checking out Caroline’s husband, the staff at the hotel, the other customers, her friends – plus any exes we might be able to dig up.’

Jess could see what a gigantic and daunting task it was. ‘Let me help,’ she said. ‘There must be something I can do.’

‘There is, as it happens.’

‘Anything.’

Mac opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a set of keys. ‘Could you nip upstairs to Harry’s flat and get some clothes – his suit, a clean shirt, underwear, whatever else you can think of. Unless we get lucky in the next few hours, Harry’s going to be charged and he’ll be in court tomorrow morning.’

Jess gave a nod. It was hardly a cutting-edge responsibility for an investigative journalist

but then she had said ‘anything’. ‘Sure, I’ll do it now.’ She picked up the keys and rose to her feet. As she opened the door she turned and asked, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had any news on Sylvie?’

‘Nothing useful. They let Keynes go yesterday.’

Jess’s eyes widened. ‘What? Are you kidding me?’

‘He admitted giving her a lift to Chalk Farm Tube but claims that was the last time he saw her.’

She didn’t ask where he’d got the information – he was an ex-cop and still had contacts in the Force – but she baulked at it. ‘And they believe him? They can’t. He’s lying. He has to be.’

Mac gave a shrug and she could see that his mind wasn’t on it; he was, understandably, preoccupied by Harry’s plight. ‘Okay, well … let me know if you hear anything else.’ She closed the door, passed through reception and headed upstairs.

It was six months since she’d last been in Harry’s flat, shortly after he’d first moved in and they’d been investigating the Minnie Bright murder. It had changed a lot since then. The walls had stayed white – she’d started painting them herself – but their starkness had been relieved by a couple of framed Edward Hopper prints, dark red curtains, a Persian rug and a soft brown leather sofa. It was still a very masculine space but it had a touch of warmth too.

The next thing she noticed was the two mugs on the coffee table, both of them full to the brim. She stood and stared at them for a while. Cold coffee. A conversation interrupted or two people who had changed their minds? Maybe two people who had decided to skip the small talk and … There was a crumpled blanket on the sofa. She bent down, picked it up and held it to her nose. Yes, there was a definite whiff of scent. A woman, then – and the first name that sprang into her head was Ellen Shaw.

There was nothing to prove it one way or another but her lip curled at the thought of the two of them together. Surely he wouldn’t? Not that it was any of her business what he did in his private life, but that woman was acid. She was corrosive, destructive, the type who could burn the soul out of a man and not think twice about it.

Jess chucked the blanket back on the sofa and went through to Harry’s bedroom. She opened the wardrobe and stared at the contents. It was then that it really struck her that he might not be coming home again. Trials were unpredictable and juries got it wrong. If Harry was charged, tried and convicted he could be looking at twenty years or more.

Quickly putting that thought aside she ran her fingers along the rail of suits, about ten or so, and tried to decide on the most suitable. Her eyes alighted on the grey Armani but she dismissed it instantly. It was too smart, too elegant. She chose instead a navy blue that was smart without being ostentatious. She laid it on the bed and added a couple of white shirts, two ties – one red, one blue – before going in search of some underwear.

Jess didn’t feel entirely comfortable rooting through Harry’s smalls, but she gathered up some pants and socks, added them to the pile and took the whole lot through to the living room. As she laid the clothes on the sofa, she noticed a slip of paper lying on the floor. She bent down and picked it up. It was in Harry’s handwriting:
Back in half an hour. Please wait for me
. And then she was in no doubt at all. Someone had been here last night, and that someone must have given Harry the gun.

Jess sat in the Mini in the car park of the Fox and scrolled through the menu on her phone. Mac hadn’t been quite as impressed by the note as she’d hoped – or convinced that it had anything to do with the case.