The Headhunters

FOURTEEN

Sometimes a night in custody softens up a suspect.

‘Have you thought about what I was asking you last night?’ Hen asked Francisco.

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘And I’m saying sod all without a lawyer.’

Sometimes not.

The problem, as Hen well knew, was that he would say sod all with a lawyer. Trying not to show annoyance, she asked if he had one.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’m a good boy, ain’t I? Never needed one till you came along.’

She sent Gary to fetch the list.

The fallout from Rick’s confession of murder had troubled Jo all night long. ‘Confession’ wasn’t the word; there was no contrition in it. He’d explained what he’d done in that spine-chilling matter-of-fact manner that left Jo in no doubt it was true.

What now? Her moral duty was to report him, but this wasn’t so simple. Her dealings with the police over the body on Selsey beach had left her feeling more of a hindrance than a help. Without any evidence that Rick had killed Cartwright, it would be her word against Rick’s and Gemma’s. Those two would deny everything. That Chief Inspector Mallin already thought she was a time-waster.

And she couldn’t forget the threat from Rick, shouted at her back when she quit the nightclub. Behind his tough words was a desperate man who regretted speaking out. She was at risk. If he decided she was going to shop him to the police, why shouldn’t he kill again?

Bloody Gemma had engineered this. By pressing Rick to tell all, she’d made sure she was no longer the only one in on the secret. If Rick was tempted to silence her he’d need to silence Jo as well. So the threat was shared.

What a thicko I’ve been, she thought. I went out with Rick a few times, snogged, petted, and came horribly near to full sex with him, and failed to see the danger signals. He’s always had an edge, the dark quality that is part of the attraction of the man. But I didn’t believe in him as a killer, even after he revealed his interest in murder.

What drove him to do it? Rick had nothing personal against Cartwright. He hadn’t met the man when he’d started talking about disposing of him. His motive was to impress Gemma. Had to be. Clearly there was a sexual element. Gem had confided more than once that she hadn’t slept with him when they’d started going out. He’d listened to her stupid talk about killing the boss and taken it seriously. He knew the sure way to pull her.

As for Gemma, she gloried so much in the murder that she couldn’t keep it to herself. The logic of her behaviour was that she had a share of the guilt. She was-what did they call it? — a conspirator. A latter-day Lady Macbeth. She hadn’t struck the fatal blow, but she’d urged him on. She’d made killing Cartwright a test of Rick’s passion and rewarded him with sex.

If Gemma’s up to her eyes in this, Jo thought, then what about me? I was never serious. I wasn’t involved. But I am now. I know about this crime and I’m not telling the police.

Before nine, her phone rang. She checked the number. Gemma. She didn’t take the call.

Francisco had looked down the list and picked a tricksy old solicitor called Woolf, who asked how long the custody clock had been ticking and said he would need time to get up with the case. Hen told him his new client had already admitted to stealing the dead woman’s car. Woolf wasn’t fazed. He said in that case he’d need to listen to the tapes of all the interviews so far.

Hen left him to it and said to Stella, ‘You know what his game is? He’ll keep this going until the twenty-four hours is up.’

‘We can ask for an extension.’

‘Not with the case we have so far. Nicking the victim’s car isn’t a serious arrestable offence.’

‘And we haven’t charged him yet.’

‘We’re investigating two murders, Stell. I’m not getting sidetracked over the bloody car.’

‘You mean there isn’t enough to detain him?’

‘If we can prove the car theft is linked to the killings we might get somewhere.’

‘Like he was disposing of the evidence?’

‘That would be terrific, but it doesn’t wash. It’s not as if he used the car to move the body somewhere. She was drowned a few yards from her front door and his.’

‘Suppose he murdered her for the car.’

Hen pulled a face. ‘I don’t think so. Do you?’

Stella shook her head. ‘Not really.’

They returned to the incident room, now dominated by a pin-board featuring photos of the crime scenes.

‘A couple of guys from Emswoth CID searched his house,’ Hen told Stella. ‘There was nothing obvious like a pair of jeans on a clothes rack.’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘Whoever killed Fiona was in the water with her.’

‘But surely he’ll have dumped his clothes if he’s got half a brain.’

‘I’m not sure he has. The longer this goes on, the more it looks to me as if he’s nothing else but a failed car thief.’

‘He’d have to be an idiot to steal a car belonging to a murder victim.’

‘We haven’t established when it was taken. It could have been during that time she was away from home and no one suspected she was dead.’

‘That makes more sense. Then all hell breaks out because she’s murdered and Francisco’s got a problem he didn’t expect-the victim’s motor parked in a field with his fingerprints all over it.’

‘He’s got no form as a car thief.’

‘First offence, maybe. Or he’s always got away with it.’ Stella looked away, at a pen she was rolling across her desk. ‘Mind if I ask something?’

‘Fire away.’

‘I was told you have an ingenious theory that he’s impotent and gets into a murderous rage each time he tries to have sex. Is that right?’

‘Are you being sarky?’

‘Not at all, boss. It’s-well-ingenious. The best we’ve got.’

‘I’ll take that. And now you can tell me what’s been going on while I’ve been wasting precious time on bloody Francisco. Did you search the missing manager’s house at Apuldram?’

‘Yesterday. Quite a nice pad.’

‘What did you find there?’

‘He’s tidy to the point of obsession. No signs of disturbance whatsoever. It was almost eerie. His car’s gone. The mail on the mat shows he’s been away for over a week.’

‘Which we know. Does he have a computer?’

‘We took it away. It’s being checked. We also picked up the letters and his filing cabinet. There’s a photo of him we can use.’

‘Neighbours?

‘The house is on its own at the end of a lane. The locals don’t seem to know him much.’

‘You checked the outbuildings, I expect?’

‘The patio, the garden shed, the pool. Just about everywhere.’

‘Nothing exceptional, then?’

‘His collection of bow ties. He has about fifty in his wardrobe, every colour you can think of, and spots, stripes, tartans, florals.’

‘We need better than that, Stell.’ Hen sighed. ‘What would really make my day is a link to Meredith Sentinel.’

‘Could be on the computer. If it’s there, we’ll find it,’ Stella said.

‘Yes, and find Cartwright himself while you’re at it. No clues as to where he might have vanished to? Have we learned any more about the guy, apart from his job and the fact that he’s divorced and lives alone?’

‘I talked to his staff when the office reopened this morning. It’s an open secret that he fancied Fiona. She was doing her best to advance her career.’

‘By cosying up to him?’

‘Seems so. His PA, Gemma Casey, wasn’t thrilled about it. She was left running the business while Cartwright flirted with Fiona.’

‘Is he unpopular with all the staff?’

‘By no means. “Nice” is the word that keeps coming up. He knows them by name and smiles and opens doors for the ladies.’

‘A right old smoothie.’

‘I wasn’t going to say it, but yes.’

Hen turned towards the visuals on the display board. ‘That’s two possible suspects, Francisco and Cartwright. I haven’t ruled out the others.’

Stella’s eyes widened. ‘I thought we’d moved on from Dr Sentinel.’

‘Well, deputy dear, early in this investigation you suggested he may have hired a hitman. Sounded wild at the time, but I’m not ruling it out.’

‘To kill his wife, yes.’ Stella was frowning now. ‘But there’s nothing to link him to Fiona’s death, is there?’

‘Well… ’ Hen paused and raised her eyebrows.

‘Well, what?’

‘What if the hitman happened to be a bouncer called Francisco?’

Stella reddened in surprise. ‘How is that possible?’

‘Let’s say the hitman was hired to kill Meredith Sentinel while her husband was out of the country. He did a fair but not faultless job of faking an accidental drowning. You and I know that Francisco’s not the brightest. Maybe he boasts about it, or flashes his blood money around. His neighbour Fiona reads the papers, gets suspicious, and asks a few leading questions. He drowns her, too, and makes her car disappear to give the impression she’s gone away.’

‘Neat.’

‘I wouldn’t say so. It’s a cock-up.’

‘I meant your explanation.’

‘Ah.’ A quick smile crossed Hen’s lips. ‘Dr Sentinel returns and plays the distressed husband and is secretly incensed that so much has gone wrong, but he’s still not in the frame. We need to know whether Sentinel had any dealings with Francisco.’

‘You think Francisco will tell us?’

‘If he’s allowed to. If not, we may have to get it out of Sentinel himself.’

Stella liked the theory. She was persuaded. ‘We’ve got to pursue this, guv. It explains both killings.’

‘And yet,’ Hen said, ‘I keep coming back to the tree-hugger, Jake Kernow. He’s the one with a record of violence. He has local knowledge. He was seen along the beach on the day Meredith was found. He’s into fossils and so was she. He drank coffee with her at the museum in London. How much more do we need on this guy?’

‘A link to the second drowning.’

‘Don’t I wish!’ She sighed like the young Judy Garland on the road to Oz. ‘He’s quite a loner. How would he have met Fiona?’

‘She visited Pagham Harbour?’

‘Did she?’ Hen’s voice hit a higher register.

‘That was a question. A suggestion.’

The disappointment showed.

Stella said, ‘I was just thinking it’s more likely she would find him than the other way round. She was the go-getter.’

‘Agreed. But suppose his line of work gave him some reason to visit the print works.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘They have posters at nature reserves, don’t they? Leaflets, maps, lists of the birds and mammals you’re likely to spot. What if he needed some new ones printed?’

‘He goes to Kleentext and meets her? It’s not impossible, guv.’

‘We can check with them. See if they’ve done any printing of that sort. I’ll get Gary onto it. This has been useful, Stell. If only one of these suggestions bears fruit, we’ll celebrate in style.’

Getting through a day’s work at the garden centre had been a minor miracle, Jo thought while driving home. She’d been on autopilot, her mind in ferment. Fortunately, her boss Adrian was like a headless chicken himself because last night’s storm had damaged many of the outdoor plants and blown out several panels in the main greenhouse. ‘What a wicked night!’ he’d said when he first came in, and Jo in her jumpy state had thought he’d somehow got to hear of her trip to the Island.

Still, a low-level task like sweeping up broken glass was a help. She needed to get last night in proportion. Decisions made in anger are usually wrong.

She looked forward to getting home, a simple meal, a quiet hour or two, and an early night. The backlog of missed sleep had caught up with her. Adrian must have seen her yawning because he said she’d been such a help she could leave early.

The sight of a familiar yellow Smartcar outside the house was not the welcome home she wanted. She said, ‘Sod you, Gemma!’ and drove straight past. Another face-to-face with that woman would be too much. She drove around the block and drew in between two cars in a neighbouring road, switched off, and banged her head repeatedly against the steering wheel. Ten minutes passed before she told herself she couldn’t stay there all night. But what else could she do? She wouldn’t go crying on Jake’s shoulder. He’d think what a wimp she was. And only an irredeemable wimp would spend the evening sitting in the car, or alone in some pub trying to make a club soda last for hours.

She’d have to tell Gemma to piss off home.

As it worked out, Gemma wasn’t waiting on the doorstep when she drove up the second time. The Smartcar had got smart and gone.

Brilliant, she thought. She parked, locked the car, stepped up to the door, and let herself in.

‘Here she is,’ her neighbour Doreen said. ‘I said to your friend you’d be home any minute. You’re later than usual.’ The old lady was standing in the hallway and Gemma beside her with a sly grin.

What could she do? Give Gemma the bum’s rush she would have given her on the other side of the door? Not in front of sweet old Doreen in her frilly apron, smiling as if she’d just baked the perfect Victoria sponge, convinced she’d done the right thing in admitting Gemma.

‘I’m not seeing anyone today.’

‘Something wrong with the eyesight, then? This can’t be put off, Jo dear,’ Gemma said in a butter-wouldn’t-melt voice meant more for Doreen than her. ‘It won’t take long and it’s very important. I know you weren’t expecting me because I’ve been trying to call you all day. Your mobile must need recharging, or something.’

Switched off to keep you off my back, Jo almost said. What she actually said was, ‘I’m too tired.’

‘Dear, oh dear,’ Doreen said in her most sympathetic tone. ‘Can I get you an aspirin, or something?’

‘I’ll be fine. I just refuse to see a visitor.’ She made a move towards the stairs.

‘But I don’t count as a visitor, do I?’ Gemma said. ‘I was telling Doreen here, we’re the closest of pals. Would you believe, Doreen, she was the only girl at my birthday treat yesterday? Tell you what, Jo, I’ll come upstairs and make you a nice cup of tea.’

‘No.’

‘Don’t be so hasty, dear,’ Doreen said. ‘It’s a very kind suggestion. Nothing like a nice cup of tea.’

‘Leave me alone,’ Jo said to Gemma. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’

‘But I’ve something to say to you,’ Gemma said, ‘and it can’t be put off. You really must listen, Jo.’

‘You said it all last night. Go away.’ She started up the stairs and put her key in the lock.

‘We’ll leave it like that, then, ‘ Gemma said, as calm as she’d ever sounded. ‘If you don’t want to hear it from me, I’ll have that nice cup of tea with Doreen and put her in the picture. Then she can tell you later.’

Doreen said at once, ‘What a splendid idea. Come in, dear, and I’ll get the kettle on.’

Shit and derision. God only knew what Gemma would say to Doreen if she didn’t get her way. ‘All right,’ Jo said, outwitted. ‘I’ll give you five minutes maximum.’

Gemma beamed at Doreen and followed Jo up the stairs.

‘That was underhand,’ Jo said as soon as the door was closed, ‘taking advantage of an old lady-and of me.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘I notice you moved your car to put me off my guard.’

‘That isn’t fair, Jo. I’m trying to mend fences here. We have to talk. We’re friends, for God’s sake. Can’t leave it as we did last night.’

‘So that’s why you’re here. You’re so bloody obvious.’

‘I know you wouldn’t grass up your friends.’

‘Don’t count on it.’

But the tone of Jo’s voice had given Gemma the reassurance she had come to hear. The relief was written all over her face. ‘You obviously got back all right. Was it a rough crossing?’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘Yes, I could see you were shocked out of your skull, but when a death is involved there’s no way of putting it gently. We thought you had a right to know, considering you were in on this from the beginning.’

‘Hang about. Don’t make me into an accessory,’ Jo said. ‘Murder was never seriously discussed that night in Chicago Rock, and you know it. What we talked about was just a joke in very bad taste.’

‘Too right,’ Gemma said. ‘Pity Rick didn’t cotton on that we were joking.’

‘What are you saying now-that you weren’t part of it?’

‘I bear some responsibility; of course I do. I shouldn’t have floated the idea of killing Mr Cartwright, even for a laugh. But we both under-estimated Rick. Jo, he’s nuts.’

‘You’re changing your tune, aren’t you?’ Jo said. ‘Last night you were calling him some sort of genius.’

‘That’s true. I had to act up. To be honest, he scares me. I don’t know what he’d do if I told him I disapproved. Is that weak of me? I suppose it is. I’m worried sick.’

This was a turnaround, and Jo might have been impressed if Gemma had not been so two-faced. ‘Report him yourself, then.’

Gemma gaped at the suggestion. ‘Turn him in? I daren’t. He’d report me. And you, too, I reckon.’

She was hell-bent on spreading the guilt.

‘Haven’t I made clear that this has nothing to do with me?’ Jo said.

‘To me, but not to Rick. You and I know we were joking. He doesn’t. With his tunnel vision he’s convinced he was acting on our suggestions.’

This, at least, had a spark of truth. Rick had never understood the humour in plotting Mr Cartwright’s death. He took things literally. All he’d been able to contribute was the grisly story of the woman eaten by pigs. Jo recalled having to shut him up when he’d wanted to repeat it.

‘You say he scares you, but you told me last night you’d slept with him.’

‘I know.’ Gemma shook her head. ‘How dumb was that?’

‘It’s true, then?’

‘It was only a shag, Jo.’

‘But he’d just told you he was a murderer. How could you do it?’

‘You had to be there.’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Really. I was, like, scared shitless when I realised what he was saying was true, that he’d topped Mr Cartwright. For real. I mean, it was the worst moment of my life. Terrifying. But then he goes, “I took the body to the paper mill and it’s gone without trace.” I was so relieved that I hugged him. Misery to joy in two seconds flat. Next thing we were ripping each other’s clothes off.’

This Jo could believe. The best sex she’d ever had was to make up after a bitter argument. ‘So you’re hoping no one will ever find out. Haven’t you thought that you’re an obvious suspect, working for Mr Cartwright, and being treated unfairly?’

‘There’s no corpse,’ Gemma said, folding her arms. ‘Nobody can say for sure what happened to him.’

‘That’s no guarantee. There have been cases of people being convicted without a body turning up.’

A pause. ‘You’re trying to scare me now.’

‘Gemma, I have no interest in scaring you. Why don’t you get a grip on reality?’

‘What, and run to the police? You haven’t, so why should I?’

‘That’s your decision.’

‘I won’t shop Rick.’

‘You still like him, don’t you?’

She plucked at the lobe of her ear. ‘He did all this for me, Jo.’

‘All this? A cold-blooded killing?’

‘He’s not cold-blooded with me.’

Amazing, Jo thought, what some women are willing to overlook in men who play around with them. ‘You don’t know how dangerous this is. I’m telling you now, I don’t want to be near him ever again.’

‘Your choice.’

‘Right-my choice, Gemma. And don’t come running to me when your choice gets ugly with you.’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Gemma sighed, shrugged, and turned away as if she was hard done by.

But she’d got what she came for, Jo reckoned: the reassurance that nothing had been said to the police.

The birdbrain left without saying any more. To report to Rick, no doubt.