Winding Up the Serpent (21 page)

‘The person we're looking for,' Mike said harshly, ‘wanted to kill her. But he pretended he wanted to make love to her.'

The doctor went white.

‘Oh yes. Plenty of people might have wanted to kill her. But wanting to make love. It narrows the field, doesn't it?'

Joanna glanced around the room. Sure enough there was a pile of
British Medical Journals.
She met Mike's eyes and knew he had seen them too.

‘And the night call that you went on was round about eleven o'clock?'

Jonah Wilson couldn't fail to pick up the accusation in Mike's voice. ‘There was a night call and I did go. You can check up.'

‘We already have,' Mike said.

Joanna rose to leave. ‘We'll find out who killed her, Doctor. It'll all come out in the end.' She hesitated, then asked a final question. ‘Were you the reason Marilyn Smith bought those new undergarments, Doctor?' she asked. ‘Was she hoping to entice you to her bed?'

Jonah flushed. ‘No,' he said. ‘No. I swear it. I love my wife,' he said sincerely. ‘I never found Marilyn attractive. I had my chance,' he said.

‘Really?' Mike's eyes held steady.

‘Oh ...' Jonah looked as though he wished he had not spoken. ‘She had a bit of a thing about me, years ago. It was nothing. I married Pamella.' He scratched his head. ‘I've never regretted it, even though my wife is sick. To be frank,' he said, ‘Marilyn revolted me.' His eyes were filled with shame and Joanna knew Marilyn would have made this shy man's life a misery.

He looked at Joanna with a pleading expression in his eyes. ‘What can I do to convince you?'

‘You don't have to, for the moment,' she said, and rose to leave. ‘But I don't want you to take any trips out of the area, Dr Wilson.' We'll need you in for further questioning.'

The doctor nodded with a glimmer of dry humour. ‘I understand, Inspector,' he said. ‘Don't leave town.'

They left the surgery little wiser.

Mike attempted an encouraging grin. ‘So far so good,' he said.

‘But what do you think, Mike?'

He rubbed the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘I'm like you. The facts fit. Everything fits except him. I can't see him killing someone. He isn't the type.'

‘They can't all fit into some psychologist's profile,' she said. ‘We'll have to shake that one off. He has to have done it. Who else?'

Something triggered a picture in her mind: long, bony white fingers touching dead flesh, unnaturally pale skin, a thin gash of a mouth, a faintly lascivious look in the dark eyes. On impulse she touched Mike's arm. ‘Come with me,' she said.

‘Where?'

‘The funeral parlour.'

Four gleaming black limousines stood outside, parked side by side. All were empty, including the hearse. Joanna approached the glazed door with a feeling of sick apprehension, even though Mike was near enough to touch. They said nothing but crept nearer the door.

It was still inside, and empty. They moved in without knocking, creeping across the thick carpet towards the chapel of rest, towards a just perceptible sound – a rhythmic, animal grunting ...

What was it the dean of the medical school had said ...? ‘An indecent act with his allocated body.' With a feeling of sick horror she knew what she would find inside and looked helplessly at Mike. From his face she knew the thought had not crossed his mind. But he didn't know all that she knew.

The door into the chapel was thick oak, with twin panels of bottle glass through which she could see a dark shape moving up and down... up and down. As they listened they heard him cry out and groan. And then they pushed open the door.

He stood up, grey and sick-looking, his wet, pink, obscene object the only splash of colour in the room apart from the bright colours of spring bouquets set around the chapel, flowers of mourning.

‘Oh, God ...' Mike's face was white with shock as he found himself staring at a wax-faced corpse.

Paul Haddon struggled with his trousers. Eyes starting out of his head, he began to jibber and as quickly sank down on the steps in front of the altar and collapsed in high-pitched, hysterical sobs.

The telephone was ringing as she walked into her office but when she picked it up the name meant nothing to her. Yesterday's events still crowded her mind.

‘Patty Brownlow,' the voice said again. ‘I work at the antique shop.'

‘I'm sorry.' Joanna apologized. ‘I do remember. What can I do for you?' She mouthed the girl's name to Mike through the open door.

‘It isn't what you can do for me ...' The girl sounded irritated.

‘Then what...?'

‘It's what I can do for you. Listen, I'm not coming down the nick. He'd find out, but I can help you nail him.'

Mike was by her side, breathing down her neck, trying to listen.

‘Is it about the nurse?'

‘No ...' the girl said impatiently. ‘He knew her all right. Paid her money, too. In fact he'd have liked to have got his hands around her bloody neck. You know all that stuff round at her house? She never paid a bean for it. Just waltzed in ... took her pick.'

‘Why?'

‘She found out things... things she'd no business knowing.'

‘How did she find out?'

‘Maybe I'll tell you, maybe not, but she knew plenty about old Gren. She had enough to pop him in a cage for the rest of his life. Did you know she'd been to Spain?'

Joanna shook her head. ‘No, but what's that got to do with ...'

‘The doll...' Mike was hissing in her ear. ‘The flamenco doll. In the bedroom,' he added.

Joanna recalled it, standing more than three feet high, back bent, arms outflung, frilled dress, shocking pink, black mantilla. She nodded. ‘Patty,' she said, ‘what's Spain got to do with it?'

‘Tell you later,' the girl said softly, and, after a pause, ‘Look, do you want what I can give you or not?'

Joanna sighed. She didn't want to be sidetracked. Not now when she was so close. ‘I'm investigating a murder.'

Mike scowled, his jaw set. His great ham fist was clenched. Joanna knew he would have liked to bring it slamming down on to the desk. ‘For God's sake,' he said through clenched teeth.

‘I don't know anything about that.' The girl was uncompromising. ‘But I do know this. He didn't kill her.'

‘How do you know?'

‘'Cause I was bloody well with him all that night.'

‘So what have you got for me?' Joanna asked wearily. The girl was scornful. ‘Don't you coppers ever want to nick anyone these days? Haven't you even noticed someone's helping themselves to every bloody Doulton figure within a thirty-mile radius? Don't you understand crack and heroin are cheaper here than in bloody Colombia?'

Now Joanna knew she could not afford to ignore Patty's information. ‘Exactly what do you know?' she asked coldly.

The girl gave a dry laugh. ‘The bloody lot,' she said.

In his anxiety to hear Mike was leaning on her. Joanna shifted irritably and listened to Patty's scornful voice. ‘Don't tell me you didn't know it was him all along?'

Mike let out his breath in a slow, satisfied gasp.

‘Listen, I rang up to say this. You'll have to move fast. Unloading's tonight. If you don't catch him I don't know when the next lot's due. And, it won't be at the warehouse. Try Good Cow Farm... the barns around the back.'

‘Patty. He's your boyfriend. Why are you doing this?'

Well... that's my business, not yours. I have my reasons.' She paused, then added, ‘Don't cock it up, will you? He's getting more and more devious. It'll be some time after midnight. All right?'

The phone went dead and Joanna met Mike's eyes.

He couldn't conceal his delight. ‘Bloody marvellous,' he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Bloody brilliant.'

‘Look...' she said awkwardly. ‘I am in the middle of a murder investigation ...'

‘Joanna. You can't ignore a hint like this. You just can't.'

She rubbed her forehead. ‘Mike,' she said, ‘I'm nearly ready to bring the whole thing to a close. The inquest is in two days' time. I've got reports to write.' She grinned. ‘It's all right, Mike,' she said. ‘I'm only winding you up. Let's get things sorted out for tonight, shall we? There's a lot to do.'

It was a chilly night with a steady drizzle. Good Cow Farm was on a quiet road in the low end of the moorlands. Access was along narrow farm tracks. And that made it easy – except for the officers who had to approach the farm across the fields at the back.

Joanna and Mike walked together through the fields. She sensed his excitement as they approached the two huge Dutch barns.

‘I thought this place was derelict,' he whispered. ‘A family lived here three or four years ago. They all died except the old lady. She went to live with a daughter.'

‘Who farms it?'

Mike shrugged. ‘Neighbours.' He looked at the deserted yard. ‘It looks damned quiet here,' he said. ‘You don't think she's played a trick on us, do you?'

Joanna shivered. ‘Who knows? I'm bloody freezing.'

She paused. ‘No, I don't think she's played a trick. She sounded genuine.'

They were silent for a minute then Mike whispered again.

‘It wouldn't be the first time we've been led out on a wild goose chase. What time did she say?'

‘After midnight.'

Joanna spoke quietly into her walkie talkie. ‘All quiet ...?'

A crackle and then the affirmative. They settled down to wait.

All along the approach roads police cars crouched, hidden behind hedges, up drives ... More than forty men were deployed around the area. Joanna blew on her hands and wished she was sitting in one of the cars. Why the hell did she always feel she had to be out there – one of the boys?

Close by, an owl hooted and a fox barked. Out in the gloom she could hear the distant barking of a dog. It reminded her of Ben. Even farther away, the distant whine of the traffic. A pale halo of soft pink lit the sky in the direction of the town. She felt on the very edge of the world.

Mike cleared his throat. ‘How long are we going to give it?'

She smiled at his impatience. ‘All night, Mike,' she whispered back.

She could see his face white against the side of the barn. Police should learn from gangsters, she thought. Dress for the occasion ... black balaclavas and gloves. She turned on Mike. ‘Not getting cold feet, are you, Sergeant?'

He fell silent and she squatted down against the side of the barn, wrapping her coat around her. The damp penetrated her bones and she wished she'd worn another sweater. She closed her eyes, tried to distract her mind from the dripping gutters and the cold. Something niggled. Something was wrong.

Start at the beginning ...

Marilyn lying dead. Black lace and boned, a plump figure pinched into shapeliness. The house untouched ... A capsule ... champagne ... perfume ... music. The Spanish doll.

She opened her eyes. Jonah, Matthew, Paul Haddon starting medical school together... and Paul had had to go. But Matthew and Jonah must have known each other very well. Must have been friends for many years. They would have stuck together, through thick and thin.

Pamella and Marilyn ... Pamella the pretty one, Marilyn having the cast-offs when her friend had finished with them. Until Jonah ... She had formed a conviction that one day she would inherit Jonah too. But it wasn't to be. He had never come – or had he?

Pamella's illness ... sparked off by the birth of the first baby, Stevie. What had really happened to Stevie? He had died. And the label – cot death – now seemed too convenient. Matthew would have done the postmortem ...

A cold trickle of fear ran down her neck. Matthew was a pathologist. Pamella had been ill. The baby had died. Marilyn Smith would have had access to the notes. Matthew and Jonah were old friends. They would have stuck together. The more she rolled the facts around her mind the less she liked them and she knew now. She had to speak to Matthew.

She felt a jab in her ribs.

‘Have a swig.' Mike handed her a small flask of spirits. ‘Hope you like whisky,' he said.

She downed one small, sour mouthful and handed it back.

He stood up briskly. ‘Here we go ...' Exultation made his voice quick and gruff. ‘They're here, Patty my girl...'

Joanna put a hand on his arm. ‘Steady, Mike,' she warned. ‘We aren't home and dry yet, you know.'

Wide arcs of lights turned swiftly along the track that led to Good Cow farm.

Mike clutched her arm. ‘We'll get him, Joanna,' he said. ‘In the bloody bag.' She saw his teeth gleam white as he grinned, then they ducked behind one of the plastic-covered rolls of hay.

‘Let them start unloading,' she'd instructed the force. ‘Give them some time. Watch and write the whole lot down. Use tape recorders if necessary. Videos, even. Then pounce.'

And for the first time in more than a week Joanna forgot about the dead nurse and enjoyed the high at the thought of Machin's face when they finally nicked him.

The lorries turned into the yard. Men climbed out. One lit a cigarette, tossed the match into a puddle.

‘Leave the headlights on.'

It was Machin. The big fish had come to supervise. They could not have hoped for more. No slick denials of involvement this time.

Wide barn doors rolled open. The headlights picked up a pale smog and long-legged black figures moving efficiently, carrying tea chests – two to a man. They must be heavy. There was laughter and good-humoured banter ... ‘Mind my toes ...'

 ‘Stick it over there, Guv.'

‘Room in the corner?' The men busied themselves like modern-day smugglers.

When it happened it happened fast.