The Killing Season (16 page)

‘Naughties?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Anyway, she is not in my employ: she just works with me. But yes, she
has
been getting up to the naughties – as you so delicately put it.’

‘In Ireland you learn to be careful with phrasing – as you put it – or you get hit on the arse with a wooden spoon.’

‘I shall have to remember that.’

‘So Elaine the hen has been wandering away from the cock, as it were?’

‘I can see that they didn’t use the spoon enough on you, Jack.’

‘The Brothers had harsher techniques. Would “stag” be a better term?’

‘It would.’

‘And it has relevance, you think, to the death of Nigel Holdsworth?’

‘Nigel Holdsworth was stabbed before he was put into the sea. I was able to determine that much before the Norwich crew arrived to take charge.’

‘As you said.’

‘So I need some advice as to whether I should go to the police.’

‘About what?’

‘The hen. Elaine. Marrying Len Wright. Apparently she wasn’t just seeing the vicar for spiritual advice.’

‘He was diddling her?’

‘Charmingly put.’

‘They were having an affair?’

‘Maybe your description is more accurate. I don’t think it was a love affair as such.’

‘So the Reverend Holdsworth has been stabbed and the groom-to-be of the fiancée whom he was diddling would seem to be a prime suspect.’

‘That’s your area of expertise, darling.’

‘So what is the dilemma?’

‘Maybe he didn’t do it. Do we ruin her life by giving out information that may have no bearing, as you legal types say, on the case?’

‘A man has been murdered.’

‘And no doubt the police will be interviewing everyone who attended the stag night, much as they did you. They are bound to talk to Len Wright, too. Maybe we should wait?’

‘They would speak to Len Wright, I am sure, but . . .’

‘But?’

‘They can’t find him. It seems that the groom has gone missing, too.’

And then Kate’s phone rang.

THE NORFOLK AND
Norwich Hospital is south of Norwich and about an hour’s drive from Sheringham.

But it was the closest A & E to Sheringham and the ambulance would have taken more than an hour to get to us. In Kate’s car, with me driving, we made it in about forty minutes.

Elaine James had been a pretty woman. She certainly wasn’t that now. Someone had used her like Mike Tyson used to use a punchbag. She was sedated and sleeping at least, her fractured ribs bandaged up, a splint across her nose and her jaw wired. Her closed eyes were black and swollen. I had seen my fair share of violence to women in my job, but still felt sickened at the sight of her, and hearing the sound of her ragged, wet breathing.

I wasn’t quite sure how she had managed to call Kate. She had her on speed dial, I guess. All Kate could hear when she answered the phone was the quiet, desperate whimpering of somebody in great pain. Thank God for caller ID.

Kate had tended to her injuries as best she could and I had carried Elaine as carefully as I could to Kate’s car. I had tried to ask her for details of who had done this to her – although, given the circumstances, I had a strong suspicion – but she was unable to speak and Kate had insisted that I should drive. She had bandaged Elaine’s jaw but immediately on reaching the Norwich and Norfolk A & E. Elaine had been fast-tracked into theatre and her jaw was now wired. She wouldn’t be speaking anytime soon.

We were slipping into our overcoats when two suited men approached us, holding out warrant cards as they did so.

‘Detective Inspector Rob Walsh,’ said the first man. About five foot eight, in his early fifties and with a lean, spare frame, thickish-looking black-rimmed glasses and a receding hairline.

‘Sergeant Swift,’ said his partner, whose name was probably the cause of some hilarity. He was taller than his boss, wider and about twelve stone heavier. He had a cheerful ruddy complexion, short-cropped blond hair and he reminded me a little of a younger Harry Coker. Who knew, maybe they were related. Either way, neither of them was smiling at me and neither one offered his hand.

‘You’d be Jack Delaney,’ said DI Walsh.

‘I would that,’ I replied.

‘Doctor Walker, nice to meet you,’ Walsh said to Kate and smiled extremely briefly.

‘OK. What can I do for you?’

‘I’d like to speak to you alone – if that is all right?’

‘No, that is not all right. Although he is on sabbatical Jack is a serving member of the police force,’ Kate said.

‘He was questioned earlier regarding an assault on the boyfriend of this woman. The boyfriend is also missing.’

‘Are you seriously suggesting that he stabbed a vicar, did God knows what else to Len Wright, and then beat Wright’s girlfriend practically unconscious simply because some Guinness was spilled at a stag party?’

‘He did punch Len Wright.’

‘After provocation and in full view of plenty of corroborating witnesses. And no charges have been laid, have they?’

‘Bit hard if the would-be complainant is missing.’

‘Maybe he is missing because of what happened to his fiancée,’ I offered.

‘Meaning?’

‘What do you think I mean? Look at the state of her! If he has done this, no wonder he is lying low.’

‘And do you have any reason to believe he
has
done this?’ Walsh asked pointedly.

Kate threw me a glance.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘That would be that I am a detective inspector of the Metropolitan police force. The oldest and one of the finest police forces in the world and one I have been serving in for over twenty years. And when it comes to violence in the home, the first thing I look to is the partner because – as you know very well – that is the person who has committed the abuse in the large majority of cases.’

The DI swallowed and looked at Kate. ‘Did she say anything to you?’

‘No, inspector,’ she replied. ‘She wasn’t capable of speech – she was barely capable of breathing.’

The inspector looked at me for a long moment and then finally held out his hand. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Inspector Delaney.’

‘Likewise.’ I shook his hand, surprised at the seeming volte-face.

‘Susan Dean can be a royal pain in the arse sometimes,’ he said, clearing the matter up. ‘But she’s good police. All this is a little out of her comfort zone, shall we say.’

‘Town mouse, country mouse syndrome.’

‘Something like that. Either way we are on it now and I for one would be grateful for any assistance.’

‘You got it.’

‘I imagine it has been a bit of a change for you. From the the mayhem of London to the tranquil calm of the North Norfolk Coast.’

‘A change for the better,’ said Kate.

‘And not so tranquil,’ I added.

A vicious beating, an old murder, a recent murder and a missing suspect . . . North Norfolk was hardly my definition of tranquillity right now.

AN HOUR OR
so later, after the inspector had recorded all the details we had given him, he had taken Kate and me to an entirely different part of the hospital.

A part where no healer can heal. A place where the human body has become evidence, a puzzle to be decoded. Injured flesh and bone a road map that led sometimes to the person who had committed the outrages and atrocities on their victims’ corporeal forms.

I had never liked morgues.

The detective inspector had been talking to the forensic team who were working on the body of the late Reverend Nigel Holdsworth. I had stayed back by the door. I wasn’t unused to such scenes, but after having seen what had been done to Elaine James I had no real desire to see a man opened up and eviscerated. Kate was an expert and it was Inspector Walsh’s case so I was happy to take a back seat on this occasion.

Kate and the two Norfolk police came across to where I was standing. I had given up smoking but as we walked outside I had seldom felt so strong an urge to fire up a cigarette. I may not have witnessed with my eyes what the post-mortem surgical technicians had been doing but the odours had certainly reached me.

‘Dead before he was put in the water,’ said Inspector Walsh as we walked out of the morgue into the corridor and towards the exit door leading to the car park.

‘Single stab wound to the chest. Pierced his heart.’

‘We don’t think he was in the water too long, either, so it looks likely he was held somewhere overnight.’

‘Any idea of the weapon used?’

‘Long, thin,’ Kate said. ‘And used with considerable strength – the blade exited the back of the rib cage, too.’

‘He was run through,’ added the inspector.

Kate looked at him thoughtfully as we walked along. I could see that something was on her mind but she wasn’t ready to articulate it yet.

Twenty minutes later and we were coming off the ring road, heading down the Cromer road back towards Sheringham and Weybourne. I was driving but taking it at a more sedate pace. The sun was setting and the sky was blood red, streaked with clouds. Sunset by Hieronymus Bosch.

‘My cousin Sam called me again earlier today, Jack. I was going to tell you at lunch.’

‘Go on?’

‘The estate agent has phoned her. He thinks he has someone very interested in the property. Might not even have to go to market.’

‘I see.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Well. We would have to sell our own properties. That will take time. If Sam wants a quick sell there is not a lot we can do about it even if we did decide to stay.’

‘I think we should. We can make a life for ourselves here, Jack. A good life for you and for me and for the children.’

‘If we sell in London now we won’t be able to go back, Kate. Property prices there are going up again. We’ll be priced out of the market.’

‘Is that your only concern?’

‘It’s one of them, yes, the main one.’

‘Don’t sell your property, then. Mine alone will raise more than enough to cover the cost of buying the house here. It’s worth over three times the value. I am also not without other financial assets.’

‘But you would have to sell it quick, you said.’

‘Easily financed – my property in Hampstead will sell quickly and I can more than cover the costs of a bridging loan, even if we find that we’ll need one.’

‘You’ve thought this all through, haven’t you?’ I said, throwing a sideways glance at her. She smiled and nodded at me.

‘I love you, Jack. I want this. More than anything.’

And there was the squeeze.

IT WAS LATE
afternoon. The sky black now, cloud-covered, and no moon.

I had moved my bits and pieces, such as they were, into the office that I had acquired next to Amy Leigh’s. It was a nice enough room, at that: wooden floor with a rich rug, an old desk with a captain’s chair behind it, a chair opposite for clients, a green wing-backed leather club chair in the corner for me to sit of a morning and read the
Financial Times
should I have the urge. I thought that would be unlikely. Old pictures on the wall of a nautical nature. An antique map of North Norfolk. All I needed, I thought, was one of those old globes that open up to reveal a drinks cabinet and I would be sorted.

I had locked up and was walking across to The Lobster when a drunken voice shouted out at me.

‘Oi, Irishman!’

I turned round: Len Wright. Dressed as he had been for the stag night, unshaven, dishevelled and even more drunk than he had been then.

‘Help you with something?’

‘Yeah, you can help me. You can help me by fucking back off to the stinking black bogs of Ireland where you crawled out from.’

He took a step closer to me, and put I put my keys in my pocket.

‘I’m not a woman, Len. You come any closer to me and I am going to hurt you badly.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Elaine James is what I mean. Made you feel more of a man beating her up, did it?’

He shifted his gaze sideways. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yeah, you do. Her and the Good Reverend. Your best mate. Didn’t like the fact that he was shagging her, did you?’

He stumbled towards me and threw a roundhouse punch. I leaned back and caught his arm as it passed. I pulled him off balance towards me and smashed his head into a lamp-post. He grunted in pain and I pulled his head back and repeated the treatment.

‘Delaney!’

I turned around and sighed inwardly.

‘Let that man go!’

I did as Superintendent Dean asked. For some reason she didn’t look to be in a good mood. Again. She had Sergeant Coker with her and a couple of uniformed officers. Len Wright slumped to the pavement, gurgling.

Seemed he had made a reappearance in town and had been getting rat-arsed in The Crown so someone had called the police.

A holding cell isn’t a particularly interesting place in which to spend a long time and I was pretty much bored with the place after half an hour. The door opened, Kate was shown in and the door closed behind her.

‘I’ve examined Len Wright. No lasting damage, but he’s drunk, not fit for questioning. They’re going to keep him in overnight.’

‘Good.’

‘And Superintendent Dean wants to do the same with you.’

‘Not good.’

‘Amy Leigh’s speaking with her now. What the hell were you thinking of, Jack?’

‘I was thinking he was swinging a punch at me and I didn’t want to end up like his girlfriend.’

‘You are more than capable of restraining him without smashing his head against a lamp-post, Jack, and you know it.’

‘Seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘Why did you tell the superintendent about Elaine’s affair with the vicar? I thought we agreed to wait.’

‘Things have got a bit serious for that now, darling. And, besides, Len already knew.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I put it to him. I could see it in his eyes. He beat her up.’

‘Hence the lamp-posting.’

‘Hence indeed.’

‘The White Knight syndrome.’

‘A man should have a hobby.’