The Headhunters

NINETEEN

‘What’s your take on Dr Sentinel?’ Hen asked Gary when he got back to the police station.

‘Shifty as a shithouse rat, guv.’

She smiled. ‘You don’t have to hold back. Anything in particular?’

‘What stood out is the way he talked about his wife. The first time we met him he didn’t give a hint she was playing around. I mean, you asked him if the marriage was in difficulty and he practically took a swipe at you.’

‘Stay with the facts, Gary. He said my question was in appalling bad taste. We’ve got it on tape.’

‘Yes, and today he says she’d shag anything that moved. Sorry, that’s over the top again. I can’t stand the guy.’

‘That’s beginning to come through.’

‘He’s a bilge-artist, guv. If he was really any use in his job he’d be a professor by now, not a bloody lecturer. On the telly I’ve seen professors half his age.’

‘Concentrate on the case. Did anything in his statements strike a false note?’

‘He did his best to cover up the mistress in Helsinki.’

‘True.’ Hen took the card from her pocket and reminded herself of the name. ‘Or was that all a bluff?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I wonder if he steered us down that line of questioning.’

Gary frowned. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Maybe Outi doesn’t exist.’

His eyes gleamed like new coins. ‘If she doesn’t, he’s got about nineteen days to account for.’

‘Nineteen days when he could have been back in England murdering his wife and the other woman. We checked if he flew from St Petersburg to London and drew a blank. We’d better see if he went by way of Helsinki, or any other airport in the region. It’s feasible.’

‘Mightn’t it be quicker to check whether Outi is a real person?’

‘The Finn fatale? Yes, you can do that.’

‘Do I get a trip to Helsinki?’

‘On the budget we’re given? You’re an optimist. A phonecall, Gary. A phonecall to the Helsinki police. Now I must see how Stella’s been getting on with the tree-hugger. First I owe myself a smoke.’

She found Stella at her desk in the incident room and learned that Jake was not co-operating. ‘He’s still in a strop about the helicopter.’

‘At least he’s saying something.’

‘A silent strop.’

‘He’s right to be angry,’ Hen said in a rare tone of regret. ‘I wish I hadn’t used the thing. It was the dogs that found him, not the chopper.’

‘You weren’t to know that, guv.’

‘But, Stell, I’ve got a conscience, too. I care about the world we’re destroying and polluting. I hate to think of the rainforest being chainsawed by loggers. I’ve got my own orangutan I sponsor. And then at the first opportunity of a ride in a bloody helicopter I’m there, causing havoc and destruction in a nature reserve. I should be ashamed and I am.’

‘I don’t suppose you did too much damage.’

‘Where is he now-in the cells?’

‘Interview Room Two.’

‘Well, I’m choked about what happened, but let’s see if I can get one bird to sing again, eh?’

Jake had slumped in the chair and appeared to be asleep when the two detectives went in.

Hen leaned across the table and touched his arm.

His eyes opened, saw her and glowered.

‘If you think I’m going to apologise for this morning,’ she began, and then paused before adding, ‘you’re right. I should have thought about the damage a noisy whirlwind of a machine can do to habitats. My decision, my mistake. Without it we’d have taken longer to pull you in, but that’s the way I should have gone about it. I was out of order and I’m sorry.’

He remained silent, but the expression in his eyes changed from hostility to suspicion to surprise.

‘Like you, I have to work for a living,’ Hen carried on, ‘and I hope you can respect that, just as I respect you for standing up and telling me what a barbarian I am.’ She let that sink in before saying, ‘You know why we arrested you. More questions. But this is another chance for you to get a word in. Or two. Or three.’

He didn’t appreciate the attempt to humour him. She nodded to Stella to start the tape and speak the official preamble.

When it was done, Hen spread her hands and said, ‘We know who you are and by now I reckon you know us, but the stupid tape machine can’t remember squat.’

Still no reaction.

She sat back in her chair and studied his face for some time before saying, ‘It was plucky of your friend Jo to sit in the inflatable wearing your jacket and hood. Comical, too. I was in the helicopter and she fooled me. I felt sure it was you. At the time I was all for taking the chopper down to about thirty feet, churning up the water and tipping it over. Big guy like you wouldn’t be in trouble, I thought. It can’t be deep out there. Good thing the pilot didn’t approve. We don’t know if Jo can swim.’

He still wasn’t tempted to comment, so Hen continued, ‘Another drowning wouldn’t have been good for my reputation. As I was saying, she’s a good ally of yours, that young woman. She didn’t pick you out in the ID the other day, and even today she insisted you weren’t one of the men she saw at Selsey.’

Jake appeared unmoved. Certainly his lips didn’t move.

Hen was not discouraged. ‘But it turns out that you two are friends, close friends, according to her, and now you have a chance to help her out. We’re not going to charge her with wasting police time this morning, but misleading us over the ID parade is a lot more serious. As you know, the parade wasn’t controlled by me, or by CID. By law it had to be overseen by a uniform branch inspector. A word from me to him could result in a serious charge for Miss Jo Stevens.’

The bird was persuaded to sing at last. ‘She didn’t mislead anyone.’

‘But she’s a friend of yours.’

‘She told the truth,’ Jake said. ‘She didn’t see me that morning. I was on the beach, yes, but she didn’t see me.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Walking.’

‘And did you see Meredith Sentinel, the woman who was drowned?’

‘No.’

‘You’re certain of that?’

‘I would have told you.’

If nothing else, the responses were coming now. Hen rested her elbows on the table and supported her chin with her cupped hands. ‘I’m going to ask you again, Jake: What were you doing there?’

‘Thought I might meet Jo. I didn’t.’

‘Let me get this right. You knew she was going to be there that morning?’

‘She told me she likes to walk there early on a Sunday.’

‘What was this-a date?’

He shook his head. ‘We weren’t dating.’

Hen glanced towards Stella. ‘Sounds to me as if the possibility crossed the young lady’s mind.’

‘We only met the evening before,’ Jake said.

‘Where?’

‘Chichester Gate.’

She was intrigued to know how. She couldn’t believe he had a chat-up line. But to ask would have brought the interchange to a juddering halt. ‘How did it come about? Were you alone there?’

‘With friends.’

‘Ah.’ This linked up with something she’d learned before. ‘Was this the evening you started with Gemma and ended with Jo?’

‘Er, yes.’ He plucked at an ear lobe. ‘Gemma wasn’t my girlfriend,’ he said, impelled to add something. ‘We went bowling, that’s all, and met up with the others.’

‘Others?’

‘Jo and Rick.’

‘And who’s Rick?’

‘A guy playing bowls with Jo.’

‘Was anyone else in the party?’

‘No.’

‘A foursome, then.’

‘It didn’t start like that.’

‘How did it end, Jake? You teamed up with Jo, right? Did Rick and Gemma pair off as well?’

‘No. Rick and Jo left in a taxi. He wasn’t feeling well, so she made sure he got home.’

‘Was he hammered, then?’

A shake of the head. ‘There wasn’t much drinking done. We saw a film.’

With communication working as well as it was ever likely to, she switched to the matter that interested her most. ‘You first met Gemma at her workplace. Kleentext, the printers, am I right?’

He nodded.

‘Tell me about it, Jake.’

‘Not much to tell. The council said we could get some Christmas cards printed from a photo. I was sent to arrange it.’

‘You made a number of visits there. Four, I believe.’

He gave her a dark look. ‘All connected with the cards.’

‘I’m sure. But it was through this contact that you persuaded Gemma to go bowling with you?’

‘You seem to know all about it.’

‘I’ve already spoken to Gemma. Now I’m getting your side of it. Did you also meet Fiona Halliday, the other woman who drowned?’

‘Don’t know.’

Stella opened the folder in front of her and took out a photo and pushed it across for Jake to inspect.

He took a look. ‘She was around, yes.’

‘Around? Didn’t you speak?’

‘Nothing much,’ he said.

‘But words were spoken? Come on, Jake. You can do better than this.’

‘I was in the office one time and she came through. She asked if I was being looked after. I said I was.’

‘That was all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you see her on any other occasion?’

‘No.’

‘At the printers, or anywhere else?’

‘No.’

‘You understand why I’m asking? You’re the only person we know who met both women who were murdered. Can that be coincidence or is there something that hasn’t come out yet?’

He moved his shoulders a fraction.

‘Are you sure you didn’t meet Fiona some other time? A chance encounter when you suddenly remembered she was the young woman who spoke to you at the printer’s?’

He shook his head. He was reverting to his silent mode. Some new line of questioning had to be introduced.

‘Do you swim, Jake?’

Another suspicious look. ‘I can.’

‘Where? In the sea?’

‘Mostly.’

‘This year?’

‘A few times.’

‘When’s the best time? Not when the beach is crowded, I expect.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Late in the evening? Early morning?’

‘Depends.’

‘On what, Jake? The tide?’

‘How I feel.’

‘You’re looking at me as if I’m trying to lasso you. It’s no big deal, going for a swim in the sea. I reckon at the end of a day’s work in the sun in August or September you must welcome a chance to cool off. You live a short walk from the beach, so why not?’ She realised as she spoke that this wasn’t a productive question, so she followed it with another. ‘When did you last have a dip?’

‘Two or three weeks ago.’

‘You know what I’m going to ask now. Were you alone?’

‘Yes.’ He put his hand to his mouth and yawned. ‘You’re wasting your time with me.’

Denis Cartwright’s house in Apuldram stood in its own grounds at the end of a lane. Brick built and faced with the local flint and mortar, it was not large, but had a fine position overlooking the inlet known as Fishbourne Channel-a property that spoke of a comfortable income.

Gemma parked on the gravel drive. ‘What now?’

Tension was clumping in Jo’s ears. ‘We look around.’

The front door had been forced and secured again with a padlock. A printed notice from the police stated that anyone with reason to enter should contact them.

‘We’re a long way behind the fuzz,’ Gemma said.

‘And we’ve got to catch up,’ Jo said. ‘No, I mean overtake.’

Being isolated, the house was easy to walk around without being seen. The paintwork was well cared-for, the climbing rose trimmed, the paths swept. They looked through all the windows they could. The interior looked nicely furnished. At the rear was a rose garden with a patio overlooking a swimming pool already covered for the winter.

‘I see there’s an alarm system,’ Gemma said. ‘Do you think it’s working?’

‘I expect the police disabled it.’

‘Do you think they turned it on again?’

‘Probably not, going by the way they padlocked the front door,’ Jo said, chancing her arm. ‘A bit rough and ready, wasn’t it?’

Without actually discussing their next move, they looked to see if by chance a window had been left open. But Cartwright was a careful owner.

‘Now that the police have been inside and seen what they want, they won’t be in a hurry to come back,’ Jo said, trying to sound confident. She was supposed to be the leader of this expedition.

‘Probably not. What exactly do you expect to find?’

‘I don’t know exactly. Something they haven’t noticed, I suppose.’

‘Proving he’s the murderer?’

‘Well, yes.’

Doubt had crept into Gemma’s eyes, but she continued to play along. ‘Shall we check the garden shed? That may not be locked.’

‘I bet it is, but we can try.’ Jo sensed that this was a delaying move from Gemma, dubious about a break-in to the house itself.

The lock on the shed had been forced recently and reattached so loosely that the hasp came away as soon as Jo touched it. The police must have looked inside.

There was a motor mower and some garden tools. Loungers, a sunshade, and some patio furniture.

‘What’s that hanging on the wall? Looks like a life-jacket,’ Gemma said.

‘Dusty,’ Jo said. ‘Hasn’t been used for some time.’

‘Well, he’s not going to offer one to the women he drowns.’

They giggled a bit and it eased the tension.

‘Living here so close to the harbour it’s quite likely he has a boat,’ Jo said. ‘You said the other day he could be living on the Costa del Crime, and it’s not impossible. Looking around, I get the feeling he’s closed the place down and gone.’

‘Sailed off into the sunset?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Smart move.’

‘Exactly,’ Jo said. ‘If I was on the run from the police I’d use a boat if I could. You’re more likely to get caught if you go by any other form of transport.’

‘Well, have we done the shed?’ Gemma asked.

Jo unhooked a wooden mallet from the tools hanging on the wall. ‘We’re going to need this.’

They closed the door and reattached the lock.

Law-abiding people have to be pushed past endurance to break with a lifetime of conformity. Jo couldn’t get out of her mind the sight of Jake being led away in handcuffs to the police cars. She knew he wouldn’t be treated fairly with his prison record. He was mentally scarred already. They’d reduce him to despair and he’d be broken, willing to sign anything they put in front of him.

Without another word to Gemma she walked across the patio to a small leaded window and smashed it. Three blows made a hole big enough for her to reach inside and unfasten the latch.

‘Who would’ve thought it?’ Gemma said.

‘What?’

‘Jo Stevens. Housebreaker.’

‘Are you going to help me in?’

They slid a plant tub against the wall and Jo used it to climb up and through the window space. She found herself in a toilet and stepped down by way of the pedestal. She located the living room, unlocked the patio windows, and let Gemma in.

‘Hooligan,’ Gemma said.

‘Accomplice.’

‘What happens now?’

‘We see what we can find, and preferably something that links him to Meredith Sentinel. Letters, photos, an address book. Anything.’

‘Shall I start in here, then?’

‘Better,’ Jo said. ‘I’ll do upstairs.’

She felt uneasy walking through someone’s home uninvited, but her reason for being there outweighed the reservations. She knew at once that she wouldn’t find much in common with Denis Cartwright. The stairs were carpeted in a bright synthetic green only a man would have chosen, and an insensitive man at that.

She found his bedroom. Better start in the most promising place, she decided. The colour scheme here was equally hideous: the walls in khaki with yellow stripes. The bed was king-size, with a brown quilt. A couple of pictures of old sailing ships were on the wall. No personal items on view. Not a single photo. A stack of books by the bed showed he was a reader of C.S. Forester and Patrick O’Brian-more evidence of a maritime interest.

In the wardrobe his bow ties had a drawer all their own. All the clothes were neatly folded and tidily arranged, but gave off a smell that reminded her of charity shops. She opened the bedside cabinet drawer. Cartwright took diazepam and was a chocolate eater. Nothing to suggest he was also a murderer.

The en suite was clean and bare. He’d taken his washing kit with him.

She went to the top of the stairs and leaned over. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Zilch,’ Gemma called back. ‘I don’t think much of his taste in music. It’s all brass bands and military stuff.’

‘I’ll join you shortly.’

She found a small guest bedroom that-at a stretch-might have been meant for a woman to use. The wallpaper was more feminine, sky blue with daisy shapes. A queen-size bed left little space for much else. A white dressing gown made of towelling hung in an otherwise empty built-in wardrobe. The only picture was a cheap print of Dell Quay. Why do people choose to hang pictures in their houses of local scenes they can visit in five minutes? She could find no evidence that any woman had recently used the room. Why would she, if she was the lover? Only, Jo thought, if the lady found his bedroom wallpaper so off-putting that she insisted on doing the business here.

She checked the bathroom and another bedroom converted into a computer room except that the computer had gone. The police must have taken it. There were just some outmoded diskettes, a printer, mouse-mat, mouse, and loose cables.

‘The place has been stripped of anything interesting,’ she told Gemma downstairs.

‘I know. I found a space where a filing cabinet stands. You can see where the sun bleached the wall above it, and there are paper clips on the floor.’

‘If he was more untidy I’d hope to find something. Isn’t it infuriating?’

‘Don’t let it get you down,’ Gemma said. ‘We’ll think of another angle. Want a glass of sherry? I found some in a cupboard.’

‘I need something for sure.’

Gemma poured amontillado into two glasses. ‘We’re not too smart, you and me.’

‘Why?’

‘Leaving our fingerprints everywhere. The break-in wasn’t the neatest, either.’

‘Is anyone going to care? We haven’t nicked anything. I haven’t seen anything I’d want to nick.’

‘We’re drinking his sherry.’

‘He owes us,’ Jo said, ‘for being such a tosser.’

Gemma laughed. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

The break-in had achieved one good result. The pair were back in harmony again, as united as they’d been when they quit the yoga class together. ‘If my parents could see me now,’ Jo said, ‘they’d die of shame, poor old dears. They’re so conventional.’

‘Mine are dead,’ Gemma said, ‘so I can be as shameful as I want and nobody gives a stuff. Actually, I envy you. I’d like to have someone to shock.’

‘Rick?’

‘He shocks me.’

‘He’s serious, though, and serious people are easy to kid along.’

‘Maybe, but they can bite back. I was in a cold sweat when he said he’d killed Denis Cartwright.’

‘Me, too,’ Jo said.

‘I guess you’re right about Rick making that up, but this house does have the feel of a place that’s lost its owner for good.’

‘I know what you mean.’

Somewhere in the far distance a police siren wailed. Gemma looked anxious. Jo shook her head.

‘So what’s next on the agenda?’ Gemma said. ‘Any more break-ins planned?’

Another shake of the head from Jo. ‘I’m running out of ideas. I’m worried sick about Jake and what’s happening to him.’

‘I got that message a while ago. You won’t be much use to anyone if you get yourself in a state.’

‘What would you do, Gem?’

‘To help Jake, you mean? I’d chat up some of the guys down at the boat yard, or in the pub at Dell Quay, and see if anyone knows if Cartwright owned a boat and if its still on its mooring. Or gone.’

‘Cool. I like it.’

‘Shall we go, then?’

They came out through the patio door, which meant leaving it unlocked. Obligations changed after you’d crossed to the criminal side. As Gemma pointed out, if any other housebreakers wanted to go in and leave more fingerprints they were welcome.

The pity of it was that nothing had been achieved except to put them in more trouble. Jo stood on the patio thinking about Cartwright. ‘Does he have a car? He must, living out here in the country. Where is it?’

‘There’s no garage,’ Gemma said. ‘I reckon he leaves it on the drive.’

‘What does he drive?’

‘A big old Peugeot Estate. Red.’

‘For one guy?’

‘He delivers orders. Plenty of room in the back.’

‘Is that why you have such a dinky car-so you can’t be asked to deliver stuff?’

Gemma smiled.

‘If he was sailing off somewhere,’ Jo said, ‘he may have left his car at the quay.’

‘Good thought. Want to look?’

‘Before we do,’ Jo said, facing the garden, ‘there’s one other place we ought to check.’

‘Where?’

‘We haven’t seen under the cover.’ She went down the steps to the pool, where the sheet of heavy duty blue polypropylene was stretched across the pool and tiled surround and fastened with straps and springs to anchors set in concrete.

‘Can we shift it?’ Gemma said doubtfully.

Jo walked around the edge and stopped at the far end. ‘Some of these springs aren’t properly attached. If we can free some more, the whole lot will get loose. There are tools in the shed.’ Hang the consequences, she thought. We’re here to do a job. She broke in again and chose a metal stake she could use as a crowbar, returned, passed it under one of the six-inch stainless steel springs, and levered it upwards. The looped end slid over the head of the anchor with a twang and the tension eased. She freed two more.

‘Keep going,’ Gemma said.

‘Get another stake from the shed and help me.’

They worked steadily along the pool edges, forcing off the springs.

In a short time the cover began to dip at the centre. The side that had been freed was dragged into the pool and starting to sink.

‘This can’t be the recommended way,’ Gemma said. ‘We’ll end up with the cover on the bottom.’

‘So what?’ Jo was too fired up to be concerned. ‘Like we said, we’re not leaving the place as we found it. Can you free some more on the other side?’

Action of any sort was such a relief.

They progressed along both sides of the pool until the cover was entirely unfastened. It didn’t sink.

‘There’s some air trapped under it,’ Gemma said.

Jo wasn’t sure. ‘Gem, I don’t think it is air. Come round this side and help me give it a pull.’

Gemma joined her and they grabbed the edge and hauled, stepping back as far as they could go. The whole thing weighed a lot.

‘We’re in the flowerbed,’ Gemma said.

About a quarter of the cover was out of the water.

‘Oh, no!’ Jo said. She dropped the cover and ran to the edge of the pool. Every pulse in her body pounded.

The far edge of the cover was undulating in the blue water. A human leg protruded from it.