The Headhunters

TWELVE

The crush in the Slug and Lettuce was getting too much, so they decided to look for a meal elsewhere. Jo asked Jake if he was vegetarian. He gave his slow smile and said, ‘No. Does that surprise you?’

‘I was thinking with you being so keen on, em… ’

‘Hugging trees?’

‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

‘I know.’

‘What I meant is that you respect living creatures.’

Jake nodded. ‘But vegetables have a life, too.’

She wasn’t certain if he was serious. The smile had gone.

They went for a Chinese meal in the Hornet and ordered mainly rice and vegetable dishes with some chicken. Using chopsticks, he helped her to some of each, saying this was the custom.

‘Have you been to China, then?’

He shook his head. ‘I had a Chinese cellmate.’

After some talk about their surroundings, Jo said, ‘I’m glad the others didn’t want us to spend all evening with them.’

‘Me, too.’

‘It’s not that I dislike them. Just that in company Rick is… I don’t know what the word is.’

‘A gadfly?’

‘You’ve got it. Makes me feel uncomfortable. What was that business about Gemma’s boss, when she said he was history now and Rick said he was tomorrow’s news, or something like that, and they laughed and went all secretive?’

‘Rick went secretive,’ Jake said. ‘Gemma wanted to let us in on it.’

She recalled the moment now and Jake’s memory was spot on. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Rick closed her down, as if you and I couldn’t be trusted. It went from joking to deadly serious. What did he mean by “tomorrow’s news”? They know something we don’t. I’m sure of that.’

‘Sounds as if they expect he’ll be found dead.’

‘That’s what I took it to mean.’ She thought about what she was agreeing with and changed it. ‘No, it was stronger than that, as if they know he’s dead.’

‘Maybe they do.’

Surprised, she asked, ‘How do you mean?’

‘The police could have told them to say nothing.’

‘Why would they do that?’

‘The next of kin are told first.’

‘That’s what it was about, then.’ But in truth she doubted if the police had anything to do with it.

Hen’s car was across the street from the Mill Pond, parked in Bridge Road. She and Gary sat waiting in the dark, passing the time listening to a local radio phone-in about policing and how it had changed, mostly for the worse.

Once Hen muttered, ‘Give me strength.’

Another time: ‘Who are these people?’

Finally, after a sharp, impatient breath. ‘Any minute now one of them is going to say when he was a boy he was caught nicking apples and the local bobby clipped him round the head and it did him no harm and he’s been a model citizen ever since.’

The caller wasn’t the next, but the one after. The clip round the head was for letting off a firework in a bus, but the effect was just as long-lasting, about seventy years of blameless living.

Gary stared at Hen wide-eyed, as if she’d picked the Grand National winner. ‘How did you know that was coming, guv?’

‘It’s a gift, Gary.’

‘Really?’

‘You could pick it up. Listen to enough old coots like that and you’ll be as good as I am.’ She switched to another station.

Tedious as the wait was, they remained on watch. Their position was ideal. There was only one route away from Fiona’s house. Every vehicle had to come towards them and make a turn. They were perfectly placed to follow.

‘You tell them good, guv,’ Gary said.

‘What are you on about now?’

‘Porkies. The bug in the car. I believed every word.’

‘Good. Let’s hope Francisco did.’

‘“S for Security” was a brilliant touch.’

‘If I’m right,’ Hen said, ‘he’s been into the house and seen inside that filing cabinet. He’ll have nicked the registration document from there, so, yes, it ought to worry him.’

‘D’you think he killed her, guv?’

‘One step at a time, Gary.’

‘Step one: he leads us to the car.’

‘He could lead us to some nightclub where he’s on the door.’

‘Christ, I hope not.’

Forty minutes had gone by since they’d driven away from the house and parked here. No way could Francisco have eluded them. Hen thought it possible that up to an hour would pass before he made his move. Even if he was not wholly convinced by her story about the homing device in Fiona’s car, it would prey on his mind.

‘Do we know what he drives?’ Gary asked.

‘You saw the cars along there.’

‘There were only two anywhere near the house, both of them old heaps really, a yellow 2CV Dolly and a beaten-up green Land Rover.’

‘Somehow the Dolly doesn’t sound right for a nightclub bouncer.’

A few spots of rain appeared on Hen’s windscreen and when she used the wipers the whole thing smeared. She found a cloth and asked Gary to clean up. He was outside and wiping when some headlights approached from the Mill Pond.

‘Get back in.’

He wouldn’t be recognised in the dark, but they needed to move off sharply if necessary. He was quickly into his seat.

‘Can you see what it is?’

‘Looks like the Dolly.’

When it turned left they saw the driver. Unless Francisco had disguised himself in false boobs and a blonde wig, he still hadn’t made his move.

‘If he wanted to be sure of avoiding us,’ Gary said twenty minutes later, ‘he wouldn’t use the car at all. He could walk right round the promenade and come out the other side. He’d reach the High Street that way and we’d never know.’

‘And where would he go then?’

‘Don’t know, and we wouldn’t find out.’

‘Aren’t you a tonic to be with?’ She leaned forward. ‘We’re starting to mist up. Where’s that cloth?’ She cleaned the inside of the windscreen in time to see another set of headlights approaching. This looked more like the shape of a Land Rover. She started up and watched.

The vehicle waited for a gap in the traffic and swung right, in the Chichester direction. In the short time it was side on, two things became clear. This was a Land Rover and the driver had Francisco’s cropped head.

Gary said, ‘Go for it!’

Before Hen went for it she had to give way to two others, the second a rented van that blocked any view of the traffic ahead. Hers was a Honda Civic and she was quite attached it. She was also quite attached to her life. She edged to the middle to see if she might overtake. The lights of a steady stream of oncoming traffic showed ahead.

‘Don’t worry, boss,’ Gary said. ‘This way, he won’t know we’re following.’

‘All I’m following is this bloody great van.’

‘The road opens up later.’

They passed Southbourne and Nutbourne and still there was no break in the traffic. The road was dead straight, allowing no views of the cars ahead, no way of telling if Francisco was similarly hampered or had zoomed a long way ahead.

‘I went to a funeral last year and something like this happened,’ Gary said. ‘The thing was, the service was at the church and after that we were all supposed to follow the hearse to the crematorium. We came to some traffic lights and got left behind and had no idea where to go after that. About thirty of us ended up at some pub. Whoa!’

The van had braked unexpectedly. Hen managed to stop in time, not without leaving some rubber on the road. ‘What the hell is this about?’

‘You know the Beefeater along here on the left?’ Gary said. ‘I reckon someone is stopping there.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Hen said. ‘Someone is going right and I think it’s Francisco. What’s down there?’

‘Lanes mostly. Chidham, isn’t it?’

The van moved off.

‘That was a Land Rover for sure,’ Hen said. ‘I’m following.’ She flicked the direction light lever. More cars were approaching. All she could do was wait to make the turn.

‘No problem, boss,’ Gary said to keep up Hen’s spirits. ‘We don’t want to get too close to him.’

Men and cars, she thought. They get inside one and feel compelled to assert themselves. Even a rookie DC.

When the gap came and they got across, the lane seemed ominously quiet and looked deserted. ‘He definitely turned down here,’ Hen said. ‘Chidham, you said? I don’t know it.’

‘You wouldn’t unless you had a reason,’ Gary said. ‘We’re on a peninsula really, with the sea to right and left. It could be a clever place to keep a stolen car. There’s a church somewhere, and a pub called the Old House at Home.’

‘No prize for guessing why you came down here.’

‘It was lighter than this when I came. Not much to look at, though. A few houses and farm buildings.’

‘Like barns, you mean?’

‘I know what you’re thinking, guv. Not easy finding them in the dark.’

Hen avoided using full beam. Progress had to be cautious and the lanes got more narrow the further south they went. Some sharp bends slowed them even more. At each bend, she half expected to see the Land Rover’s tail-lights.

She didn’t.

After yet another bend she said, ‘I think we’re going north again.’

‘Probably are.’

They came to a fork. Hen was starting to lose heart. ‘Now what?’

‘My feeling is left,’ Gary said.

More bends, sharp, right-angled. ‘I can see lights,’ Hen said, her foot on the brake. The road had widened and a car was at the side, on the left.

It was a black Mercedes.

‘This is the pub I was telling you about,’ Gary said. ‘Do you want to check the cars?’

‘We’d better.’

They stopped behind the Mercedes and got out. The check didn’t take long. Nothing resembling a Land Rover was parked outside. Gary offered to speak to the landlord, but Hen wanted to get back in pursuit.

In a short time they saw the lights of cars crossing the way ahead. They were back to the A259, the main road they’d left.

‘Should have taken that right fork,’ Hen said. ‘Hold on, I’m going to reverse.’

She backed about fifty metres, found a gateway to turn in, and drove back past the parked cars outside the pub. The fork came up and she took the sharp left along a wider, more promising stretch of lane.

‘Are you watching both sides?’ she asked. ‘He could have taken it off the road and switched his lights off.’

‘I’ve only got one pair of eyes, guv.’

She clicked her tongue, but he was right. It was impossible to see everything. She was doing fifty and it felt like eighty. She switched to full beam. ‘That any better?’

‘A lot.’

‘But of course he’ll see us coming now.’

They came to a T-junction.

‘What now?’

‘We’re going round in circles,’ Gary said. ‘If you turn left you’ll be heading for the main road again.’

They turned right and recognised the series of bends they’d originally taken.

‘We’ve been right round,’ Hen said. ‘He’s beaten us, the tosser.’

After the Chinese meal Jake insisted on walking Jo home, the perfect gent. She was sure he didn’t expect to be invited in. Their friendship was progressing at an old-fashioned tempo. Wham-bam, thank you, ma’am wasn’t this man’s style. In a way, Jo approved, yet she was up for a relationship if and when he was.

They waited for a gap in the traffic at St Pancras and when the time came to cross, he took a light grip on her arm and guided her across. The contact encouraged her but he let go when they were on the other side. Fortunately he wasn’t sure which way to turn, so she tucked her hand under his arm and said, ‘It’s up here and to the left.’ She held on all the way up Alexandra Road to the house.

At the front gate, he signalled he was about to leave by saying it had been a nice evening.

Jo said, ‘You’ve time for a coffee, haven’t you?’

He took a step back and showed her his palms as if she was about to spring at him.

She stepped closer, took his arm again and steered him to the door. ‘Live dangerously.’

He gave an uncertain grin.

In the flat she offered wine, but he said black coffee was what he wanted. She said, ‘You don’t have to worry about missing the last bus. I can easily drive you home when you want to leave.’

He said, ‘That might be against my principles.’

‘What-leaving a lady at the end of an evening?’

He started to say, ‘I meant… ’ and then stopped, outwitted. Instead of saying his piece about private cars and exhaust fumes he shook his head and laughed.

That was the moment she knew he would spend the night with her.

At first light, Hen was directing a search of the Chidham peninsula. Every building capable of concealing a car south of the A259 was assigned to a group of officers. She was convinced Fiona’s Picasso was still there somewhere. Last night Francisco had known he was being tailed. He wouldn’t have risked moving it. He’d probably searched for the bug and found nothing, but that would only have added to his anxiety. He’d be afraid it was concealed somewhere he hadn’t detected.

The task wasn’t huge. The whole area amounted to about two square miles, and much of that was open ground. The populated part, containing the roads they’d driven along, was a section in the middle about half a mile across and a mile from north to south.

‘He may not have used a building,’ Gary pointed out. ‘He could have hidden it out of sight down some farm track.’

‘Do you think I haven’t thought of that?’ Hen said. She hadn’t fitted in much sleep. ‘We’ll check the buildings first and then scour the rest of the place.’

Searches are heavy on manpower. Officers have to be diverted from other duties, but a murder enquiry takes priority over most things. Hen had promised everyone it wouldn’t take long. In theory she was right, except that the consent of the owners had to be sought at each location, and nothing is quick when members of the public are involved. ‘If the ACC should ask what this is about,’ she told Stella, who was back at the ranch running things, ‘you’d better tell him we’re looking for a stolen Picasso. That should silence him.’

The same morning, Jo stirred about six-thirty. In her drowsy state she became aware she wasn’t wearing the XXL T-shirt she always slept in. From there her brain reminded her why. He’d been a marvellous lover, discovering what turned her on, treating her gently when she wanted it, and bringing them both to amazing climaxes. She’d felt appreciated, a giver and sharer of passion better than anything she’d ever experienced before.

But had it really happened? She had a worrying suspicion she was alone in the bed and she was scared to turn over and see if he was there. The potential for disappointment was huge. Could she feel the warmth of another body, or was it simply her own? She listened for breathing and couldn’t hear any. Then there was a sound from the kitchen, the purring of the kettle. He was out there making coffee.

Modesty took over. She hopped out of bed and snatched some things from the drawer, got under the duvet again and pulled them on just before he entered with two mugs. He was fully dressed.

‘I woke you,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s all right. I’m not used to getting coffee made for me.’

‘You see, I know it’s Sunday, but I have to get to work.’

‘I’ll drive you in.’ Oops, she thought. That would be against his principles. ‘If I had a bike, you could borrow it, but I don’t.’

‘I can get the bus.’

‘If I drive you, we’ll have time for breakfast. And don’t you dare say you never eat it.’ Oh, hell, she thought, that sounded awfully like nagging.

But cooking for him and driving him to Pagham were important, as if to demonstrate that last night hadn’t just been about the sex. If she had remained in bed and let him go out of the door, the whole thing would have seemed like just another one night stand.

In the car he said, ‘I’m not used to this.’

‘Being driven?’ Jo said, knowing he meant something else.

‘Sleeping with someone.’

‘It didn’t show. I mean, it was… really special. I’m not promiscuous either, by the way.’

‘Nice slogan for a T-shirt.’

‘We should get two made. Ah, but imagine what Rick and Gemma would make of it. They’d never let it rest.’

‘I expect they spent the night together.’

‘I’m not sure. The last time I mentioned it to Gemma she said they hadn’t. I think if they had, she’d be only too keen to crow about it.’

‘Can’t she keep a secret?’

‘Gemma?’ She laughed at the notion. ‘Only when it amuses her to keep people dangling, like they did about her boss and what happened to him.’

‘That’s just talk,’ he said. ‘They don’t know anything.’

He said this with such certainty that momentarily it crossed Jo’s mind that Jake knew the truth about Mr Cartwright’s disappearance. But how could he? She dismissed the idea.

A silver Xsara Picasso was found shortly after midday in a field on the west side of the Chidham peninsula. A grey cover was over it. The plates and road fund licence had been removed, but no one had much doubt that it was Fiona’s.

‘I want this area taped off and nobody else touching the thing until forensics have been by,’ Hen said. She’d been confident, but it was still a relief to have found the car.

The searchers who had made the find had folded back the cover from the bonnet to check the make and registration. It’s a truism among crime scene investigators that everyone visiting a crime scene brings something to it and takes something away. Fortunately there was a good chance of recovering some DNA from the interior and perhaps from the cover as well.

She called the incident room and asked for Stella. Instead she got Sergeant Murphy. He reminded her that Stella was out at Apuldram searching Cartwright’s house.

‘Who else is with you?’

‘It’s Sunday morning, guv. We’re down to three.’

She got on to Emsworth and asked for some of that cross-border co-operation. They agreed to send a car to the Millpond to arrest Francisco on suspicion of stealing a vehicle. They would deliver him to Chichester for questioning.

‘What’s my thinking here?’ she asked Gary to see how he was shaping up as a member of CID.

‘We let Francisco get the idea it’s only the car theft we’re interested in and catch him off guard?’

‘You can do better than that.’

‘We can get a sample of his DNA?’

‘We’ll do that, yes, but it isn’t what I’m driving at.’

He scratched his head. ‘I’m not at my sharpest today, guv. I got to bed quite late.’

‘Blaming me, are you? Didn’t you ever read PACE when you were in uniform? When you arrest someone for a serious offence you can enter and search his house without a warrant.’

‘Oh, I knew that.’

‘But you didn’t say, did you? Get with it, Gary.’

Leaving two uniformed officers to remain with the car until the forensic unit turned up, she drove back to Chichester and had a canteen breakfast.

Francisco was already slumped in a chair in Interview Room Two looking as if he needed an Alka Seltzer. Hen and Gary sat opposite. After the preliminaries were spoken, Hen said, ‘You know what you’re here for?’

‘No.’ He was trying to stare her out.

‘It was explained to you when you were arrested. You’re under suspicion of stealing a vehicle. Where did you go last evening?’

‘Jongleurs.’

‘Come again?’

Gary said, ‘It’s that nightclub in Portsmouth, guv, Gun Wharf Quay.’

‘You’re telling us you were in Portsmouth?’ she asked Francisco, making clear her disbelief.

‘My job, isn’t it? Security.’

‘We know about that. What hours do you work?’

‘Eight till two-thirty.’

‘You were never in Portsmouth at eight last night.’

He shrugged. ‘I may have gone in later.’

‘Cut the crap, Francisco. You were driving round the lanes of Chidham between nine and ten. We were following you.’

Trying to appear cool, he leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his neck. ‘What for?’

‘Let’s spell it out, then. We found Fiona’s car in the field at Chidham this morning. You led us there. Forensics are testing for traces of DNA and prints. When we compare them with the samples you’ve given and checked the tyreprints of your Land Rover, I fully expect to be charging you. I wouldn’t try bluffing if I were you. Science has overtaken all that. Follow me now?’

‘No.’

‘Come on, Francisco. You stole her Xsara Picasso and left it under a cover in a field after removing the plates and licence. You’re her neighbour and she trusted you with a key to her house. You let yourself in and took away the paperwork, all evidence that she ever possessed the car. I’m sure your plan was to wait a few weeks and then get a respray and sell it on.’

‘You’re talking bollocks.’

She ignored that. ‘When the tests results are in, we’ll charge you. Then we move to the next stage, proving you murdered her by drowning.’

He sneered. ‘Lady, you couldn’t be more bloody wrong. Some other person killed her.’

‘You had the motive,’ Hen said. ‘You wanted that car. You live at the scene of the crime, where the body was found. You’re a professional, licensed bullyboy. No problem for a man of your strength drowning a woman. You thought it would be taken for an accident, but it wasn’t. We found the marks on her neck. You’re in deep shit, my friend.’

Francisco altered his posture, sitting forward, elbows on the table. At last he seemed to understand how serious this was. ‘Look, I helped you guys. I called the police when that bird came knocking at my door.’

‘You reported she was missing, yes, playing the part of the good neighbour. It’s amazing how often the person who reports the crime turns out to be the perpetrator.’

He frowned.

‘Killer,’ Hen said.

‘This is so wrong.’

Hen glanced towards Gary as if in two minds. ‘Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves.’

Gary shrugged. ‘You said you’d spell it out, ma’am.’

‘So I did.’

Gary was making up for earlier failings. He added, ‘You believe in telling it like it is.’

‘So right, but we’ll take it in stages. Step one: We need to prove Francisco nicked the car.’

‘Everything follows from that,’ Gary said.

‘Hang about,’ Francisco said. ‘Just because I took the car doesn’t mean I killed Fiona.’

‘You admit to the car theft?’ Hen said, saw his reaction and said for the tape, ‘The witness nods. We’re getting somewhere, then. You took it why?’

‘She didn’t need it no more.’

‘You decided it was up for grabs?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You thought no one would notice if her car disappeared? That takes some believing.’

He opened his hands as if he didn’t care what they believed.

Hen said, ‘All right. Let’s run with that for a moment, unlikely as it seems. You took the paperwork for the car as well? You had the key and let yourself into the house and raided the filing cabinet?’

He gave an exaggerated yawn.

She spoke to Gary again. ‘It does suggest he thought he’d get away with car theft.’

Gary had heard the cautious note and gave only a slight nod.

‘On the other hand,’ Hen went on, ‘he may have wanted to throw suspicion on someone else for the murder of Fiona.’

‘How would he do that?’ Gary asked as Francisco looked from one to the other.

‘Well, his first line of defence was that she drowned accidentally. But just in case that wasn’t believed and we discovered she was murdered, he thought if he removed the car from the scene we would mistakenly assume her killer drove off in it, thus deflecting suspicion from himself, the man living next door.’

‘Wicked,’ Gary said.

‘You say I killed her? No way.’ Francisco flapped his hand as if swatting a fly.

‘Somebody did,’ Hen said. ‘Did you fancy her, Francisco?’

‘Per-lease.’

‘You disliked her, then? A bad neighbour? Was she giving you trouble?’

‘No.’

‘It’s easy to see how disputes arise. Loud music late at night getting on your nerves. Well, I guess it couldn’t be that because you’re used to loud music late at night. It’s your job. You’re not around most nights. Perhaps it was the reverse. She objected to you coming home in the small hours, banging doors and waking her up. She kept complaining. Drove you round the twist. Is that the truth of it?’

‘Are you trying to say I’m mental?’

‘Not at all. Angry. Violent. But for a reason.’

‘Fuck off, will you?’

‘We’re about to,’ Hen said smoothly. A delay would be useful. This had gone as far as it could for the present. If Francisco was the killer, there would be more to throw at him after his house was searched.

Hen stood. ‘I’m keeping you under arrest. When we brought you in for questioning it was in connection with the theft of a vehicle. You’re now under suspicion of murder.’