Taste of Blood

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jane had ordered a Chinese takeaway and was opening the cartons in the kitchen in her pyjamas. She had cleared away the shards of glass in the sink and found a half-bottle of Chablis open in the fridge. It tasted as if the cap had been unscrewed for some time, but she poured herself a glass anyway. As she munched some prawn crackers she heard high-pitched barking and Gerry calling for Wilma.

The barking eventually stopped and Jane tucked into her sweet and sour chicken and fried rice. It was very sweet, and after eating only a small portion, she tipped the remainder into the bin.

The barking started up again as she was about to leave the kitchen, and this time she could hear Gerry shouting ‘Drop it!’ Jane opened the backdoor and walked over. Wilma was hurtling around their garden like a miniature greyhound, with a woollen sock in her mouth, circling the small patch of lawn as if it was a running track. Gerry was doing his best to catch her, but she was too quick for him. Seeing Jane, Gerry turned and grinned.

‘It’s one of my best pure wool socks!’

Wilma, having briefly lost Gerry’s attention, dropped the sock and padded towards Jane. Panting, her tongue hanging out, she stood on her hind legs, her sharp nose just level with the top of the fence and her tiny front paws on the edge.

‘Well, aren’t you looking fit and healthy?’ Jane said, stroking her soft ears.

Gerry grabbed the sock. ‘She’s a right little minx. If I don’t get my newspaper in the morning before she does, she’s shredded it. Vi’s back to knitting again... little coats for our baby girl.’

Jane smiled. ‘That’s good. Please give her my love.’

‘Oh, I will. To be honest with you, it’s like the before and after. Wilma’s given her a new lease of life. She’s often still unsure who I am, but she loves our little girl.’

Gerry and Wilma went back into their house. Jane locked the front and back doors and was heading up the stairs when she stopped midway, close to the print she had straightened that morning. It might have been Gerry saying ‘before and after’ that triggered the memory, but Martin Boon’s wife’s wishy-washy watercolour paintings, the ones in their awful drawing room, were of gardens. And she had been surprised to see that the Larssons also had two; in fact, she recalled mentioning it to Mrs Larsson.

Turning on her bedroom lights, she sat on the edge of her bed. The Larssons’ were watercolour paintings of the courtyard before and after the tarmac had been laid. Jane tried hard to recall if one also showed the potholes. She remembered it was a strange yellowish-orange colour and showed a broken fence. She hit the wall with the flat of her hand. ‘Stop it, just bloody stop this right now.’

But hard as she tried to stop it, Jane’s mind followed its own train of thought: she recalled the impressive kitchen and the exceptionally well-built garden shed Mrs Boon used for working on her paintings. She was getting money from somewhere. Could it be that Martin Boon was blackmailing the Larssons?

Unable to sleep, she went downstairs to the kitchen, taking her pack of cigarettes from her handbag, then fetching the small bottle of brandy and pouring herself a good measure. She took a mouthful and coughed as it hit the back of her throat. She lit her cigarette from the gas stove and put the packet back in her handbag and found the beermat. She inhaled deeply, leaving the cigarette in her mouth as she held the stained beermat with the scribbled drawing made by McGregor. Did the cross mark the spot where he thought the stolen items she’d made up could have been buried? She couldn’t remember.

Finishing her brandy and lighting another cigarette from the butt of the old one, she left the beermat on the kitchen table. She was cleaning her teeth in the bathroom, ready to go back to bed, when the phone rang.

‘Jane? This is DCI Hutton.’

‘Oh, good evening, I’m sorry I skived off a bit early, but my mind’s a lot clearer for having had a bit of a break.’

‘It’s not about that. I’m on my way to Clarendon Court. We got a 999 call from Mr Bellamy, owner of one of the new builds. It appears two thugs were digging up the courtyard and all hell’s broken loose. When the squad car and uniform got there, they’d already done a runner, and I’m not surprised after what they dug up.’

The ground felt as if it was shifting beneath Jane’s feet, and she had to gasp for breath. ‘What...?’

‘See for yourself, Jane. Just get over there.’

Wearing an old tracksuit, Jane chewed gum furiously as she drove, hoping it would mask the smell of alcohol when she got to the site. At eleven thirty the streets were almost empty. Driving into Clarendon Court, she parked up behind several squad cars, an ambulance, and officers’ personal vehicles. A forensic tent had been erected on the courtyard inside a large area cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape. The Caplans had the yellow tape crossed over their new electric gate.

Jane went to the forensic wagon to get a protective suit, overshoes, mask and gloves. She had seen Stanley’s car and presumed he would be inside the tent. By the time she was suited and booted, more uniformed officers had been brought in to keep curious onlookers at bay. Mrs Bellamy was standing outside her front door wearing a dressing gown and slippers, offering to make tea and coffee. Jane found DC Burrows, who had interviewed Mr Bellamy, and listened as he repeated the gist. He had described the smallish digger driven by one of the men. The machine had been brought into the area on a low-loader truck. As he waited for the police, he saw the two men had been bent over something and had then put the machine back onto the loader and driven out, damaging one of the fences in their haste. He was unsure if they had made off because the police sirens could be heard.

Jane entered the forensic tent. One forensic officer was kneeling over the hole. They were taking great care checking through the rubble, collecting samples and bagging them. Placed to one side was what looked like an old sack, partly open at one end and wrapped with duct tape. It looked as if it had been tied with a cord, which was placed beside it. There was a slash down the side of the sack, and Jane could see long strands of dark hair clogged with soil. Stanley ducked inside the tent.

‘Have you had a look inside the sack? I’ve not let anybody touch it; the blokes must have had heart failure when they tried to open it. They used a knife to slit the duct tape, saw the hair and freaked out, driving off just before the first patrol car got here. We might get lucky if Mr Bellamy is correct and it was a digger. He thought it might have been one called Priestman, so we can run some checks on any local firm using one. That’s an expensive piece of machinery, so shouldn’t be too hard to trace.’

Jane didn’t answer. She bent down and eased back the sacking with a pencil and looked inside. Despite the fact that it was partly bound with duct tape, there was no doubt it was a human head in an advanced state of decay. She stood up as a forensics officer carrying a large plastic container and evidence bag walked into the tent.

‘What are you going to do with it?’ Stanley asked.

‘Take it to the mortuary for examination,’ he said. ‘We can’t touch it here.’

Jane watched as they put the sack into the evidence bag and then placed it in the plastic container. DC Burrows looked in, asking if anyone wanted a tea or coffee because Mrs Bellamy was offering to bring over a tray.

‘I’ll have a tea,’ Stanley said.

Jane shook her head. ‘Not for me. I think I need some air.’ She walked out and Burrows followed.

‘What about the other neighbours?’ She gestured over to the Larssons’ house.

‘They got home from the theatre after the police had arrived. Martin Boon apparently tried to get close to where the action was, but the uniforms told him to go back indoors.’

Stanley joined them. ‘They’re bringing in more officers to check the surrounding area for body parts. Hutton will be here soon — this is going to be a long-drawn-out night. You sure you don’t want a cup of tea, Jane?’

‘No. I’ll have to bite my tongue from saying I effing told you so if I see her, so I’m going to go to the mortuary.’

‘They won’t be doing anything tonight,’ Stanley said. ‘You’ll have to wait until the morning to even begin to identify her.’

‘It’s not female. It’s Sebastian Martinez. He had long dark hair, Stanley, and I may be wrong, but I doubt they will find any further body parts.’

Stanley stared at her for a moment, then turned away as a uniformed officer carrying a tray with mugs of tea and coffee approached. While he helped himself to a mug of tea, spooning in sugar, Jane walked to her car. She was driving out of the courtyard just as DCI Hutton’s car was turning in.

Jane decided that Stanley was probably right, and nothing could be accomplished at the mortuary until early morning. She went home, wanting to get some sleep, ready to watch the experts examining the head.

Lighting a cigarette in her kitchen, she picked up the beermat, tapping it on the edge of the table. She knew she had to square things with McGregor, and even though it was nearly two o’clock she went out and drove to the nearest telephone kiosk. His number rang for a long time before it was answered, and she put in the coins.

‘Mr McGregor, this is Jane Tennison.’

‘What?’

‘You need to pay very careful attention to what I am going to say.’

‘What?’ he said again.

‘Where were you tonight, between the hours of nine o’clock and ten?’

‘I don’t fucking believe this. Are you crazy?’

‘No, it is imperative that you be honest with me. You could be arrested on a very serious charge, so I am calling you to make sure you are aware of what can happen within a few hours.’

She could hear his rasping, phlegmy breath. Eventually it dawned on him that she was serious.

‘I was in the pub celebrating me sister-in-law’s birthday.’

‘Was your nephew with you?’

‘Yes, he organised the male stripper. You satisfied?’

‘You have witnesses for both of you being at the pub between nine and ten tonight?’

‘Yes. Got home at midnight. What’s this about?’

‘Did you or your nephew — even though I warned you not to — tell anyone about our meeting regarding the tarmac?’

He coughed and cleared his throat but didn’t answer, so she continued.

‘I told you that there would be a police presence there, if you attempted to recover the stolen property.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Two men attempted to dig up a section of the tarmac you laid at Clarendon Court.’

‘OK...’

‘So did you or your nephew tip someone off that there might be valuables stashed under the tarmac?’

‘No.’

‘Think about it, it’s very serious.’

‘I swear before God I never done. I mean, he gets drunk, he might have mentioned it, but I’ll slap him around if he did.’

‘Your alibis are very important because human remains were found in the exact location you described and marked on the beermat you gave me. So, I am warning you that you could be detained and questioned about a murder. Two men used a small portable digger described by a witness as a Priestman mini-digger.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Do you own one of those?’

‘No, I mean we sometimes hire in something for different jobs, you know.’

‘So, you do not have this machine, or have had one stolen?’

‘No, we just do tarmac jobs. I mean, I might have hired one at some time. I get a lot of gear stolen, you know, cos I have to hire a few alkies or ex-cons. I’m always reporting gear being nicked but I can’t afford insurance nowadays.’

She could still hear his heavy breathing but remained silent.

‘Have the blokes been arrested?’

‘Not as yet. They managed to drive out before the police arrived.’

McGregor had another heavy coughing fit.

‘I am going to hang up now, Mr McGregor. Let me remind you of how serious it could be if you are involved in any way. I cannot protect you and will deny not only having this call but ever having met you or your nephew.’

‘I understand, thank you.’

‘Goodnight.’

She took a deep breath as she replaced the receiver.

Jane drove home, knowing tomorrow was going to be a full-on day, more than likely followed by an all-nighter. She checked over all her notes, photographs and drawings that she had pinned up in the boardroom, then returned them to the boot of her car.

Lying in bed in the dark, she knew there was no point in trying to sleep.