The Headhunters

TWENTY-THREE

The rain was stampeding across the roof when Jo woke from a troubled dream and looked at the clock. Still only 1.15 a.m. She got out, pulled back the curtain, and watched water pouring down the front of the house opposite. The gutters couldn’t cope. On TV last night the local weatherman had issued a flood warning. There was a small river north of the city called the Lavant that always dried up in the summer and yet caused huge problems in conditions like this.

Unable to go back to sleep, she put the kettle on for a cup of tea. Always when extreme weather arrived she found herself thinking about global warming and its effects. Drought was not the whole story. Temperate countries could expect more of this monsoon-type weather that they weren’t equipped to cope with. Jake would know the science, exactly why it occurred

And so her thoughts returned, as they often did now, to Jake. She assumed he was still in police custody. She’d heard no more from him. How could the police be so short-sighted when it was obvious that Cartwright was the murderer, the body in his own pool sealing his guilt?

The body in the pool proved also that Rick’s horrifying claim had been moonshine. Far from being dead and pulped, Cartwright was alive and well and murdering women.

Jake had been right about that. In the morning she would call him and see if the police had come to their senses.

She made the tea and went back to bed.

Hen had slept through last night’s downpour. She had the ability to shut eyes and shut off, even when dealing with serial murders. Perhaps it was not an ability, just exhaustion. She drove into work without really paying attention to the amount of water lying on the roads. Coming out of Bognor she sprayed a postman and had to get out and apologise. Not the best start to her day. Or his.

Better news greeted her at the nick. Stella was waving a piece of paper from across the incident room. ‘Report from the lab, guv. We’ve got a match for victim number three.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Honest. She’s local, too. Lives at Bosham, or did. Named Sally Frith.’

‘I don’t understand. How did her name come up?’

‘She’s on the DNA register because she was fencing stolen antiques two years ago. Fined five hundred pounds and put on probation as it was a first offence.’

In the CID, good fortune is treated with suspicion. ‘What’s going on, Stell? Are the fates toying with us, or is this on the level? Is the age right?’

‘Fifty-three.’

‘I wonder who dealt with it. You and I were still working out of Bognor CID two years back.’

‘I’ll get the file up.’

‘No, I’ll check the paperwork You’d better get out to Bosham right away and see what you can find at the house apart from dodgy Chippendale chairs. Take Paddy with you.’

‘Paddy?’ The silver-haired sergeant was the one fixed point in the incident room.

‘He needs to get out more.’

‘You don’t want to come?’

‘I’ve got other fish to fry.’

‘Meaning this guy Rick?’

‘Spot on. We’ve got nothing on him, but he swims into view every once in a while.’

‘The one that got away?’

‘Or a red herring. I’ll let you know.’

Light words, but behind them, serious intent.

First, she accessed Sally Frith’s file. The case had been handled by a DI who had since moved on to Brighton CID, and he’d written a useful account of the case. Frith, twice divorced and with a small fortune from the second marriage, seemed to have become a soft touch for a fraudster. She’d met a slippery character called Fu Chin and allowed him to store antique pottery in her large house in Bosham. The items turned out to have been stolen from a museum in Brussels. Fu Chin had spun her some yarn about needing cash for medical treatment for one of his children in Hong Kong and she’d found buyers for five of the pieces and transferred the money to his numbered account. Described by the judge as a foolish and gullible woman, she’d taken the rap. Fu Chin was still at liberty.

Hen recalled the lily-white body floating in the pool. You see dead flesh and know nothing of the personal story behind it. This hapless woman had been conned again, putting on her swimsuit for a dip with a serial killer. How foolish and gullible is that?

More urgently, what did it say about the killer?

He must have persuaded two of his three victims to go into the water. There wasn’t any evidence of compulsion about the apparent way Meredith had stripped to her undies and walked into the sea. And Sally Frith must have put on the pink swimsuit before going into the pool. Had they been charmed to their deaths? At a stretch Hen could imagine taking a midnight bathe on a warm September night with Jack Nicholson about the time he made Easy Rider, but a dip in an outdoor pool in an English October was something else. Not sexy old Jack nor any man alive could have talked her into getting her kit off in those conditions. She could only suppose the murderer had turned on the heating well in advance.

Such thoughtfulness.

A little shudder ran through her body.

She told Gary to get his coat on. Rick Graham’s office was in West Street. ‘Normally I’d walk,’ she said, ‘but look at that sky. It’s going to tip down again any minute. Fetch your car. I’ll see you out front.’

‘What’s Rick’s connection with the case?’ Gary asked when they were in motion, staring through the wipers at the lights of the car ahead.

‘Yet to be discovered,’ Hen told him. ‘He’s one of the pain-inthe-bum quartet.’

‘Jake, Gemma, Jo, and Rick?’

‘Friends, swingers, clubbers. None of them married. Between them Jake, Gemma, and Jo link up in some way with each of the killings. They knew one or more of the victims or they discovered one or more of the bodies. Rick stays in the background but he may have things to tell us.’

Not many cars were parked in West Street so early in the day. Gary steered into a spot right outside the Georgian doorway of the surveyor’s. ‘Does he know we’re coming?’

Hen shook her head. ‘Watch how he reacts. You may learn something.’

She flashed the warrant card and instructed the receptionist not to announce them over the intercom. She didn’t want Rick leaping out of a top floor window.

His name was on the door at the top of the stairs: Richard O. Graham, member of this and fellow of that, a string of qualifications that didn’t include immunity from investigation. Hen turned the handle and they went in.

He was reading the Daily Mail. Guiltily, he slammed it into a drawer. His blue eyes blinked nervously. Unruly hair poked up like a tussock of sun-bleached grass. It didn’t look right for the grey suit.

Hen gave a kickstart to the interview. ‘Were you reading about the body your friends found in the pool? We’re CID, by the way. DCI Mallin and DC Pearce.’

‘Oh.’

‘That was a question.’

‘Er, no. I get it for the business pages.’

‘Didn’t the latest murder make the national press? It will tomorrow. She’s a local woman.’

Wanting to get over the shock of their sudden appearance, Rick tried letting them know that they’d invaded his territory. In a prim tone he said, ‘I have an appointment shortly.’

‘Not until this one is through.’

‘What exactly do you want?’

‘Information. You’re the listening post. Heard it all: dead bodies, an ID parade, a chase, an arrest.’

‘If you’re talking about Jake, I scarcely know the guy,’ he said. ‘He’s just a hanger-on.’

‘Hanging on to Jo as I understand it,’ Hen said. ‘She was your girlfriend and he took her over.’

‘I wouldn’t call her a girlfriend. He’s welcome to her.’

‘How very gracious that sounds. Didn’t she give you what you wanted? You swapped her for Gemma, I was told. Tricky when they’re close friends, I imagine. Leads to all kinds of comparisons.’

He reddened, either with anger or embarrassment. ‘I can’t see what relevance this has.’

‘All right, Rick, I’ll stop being personal. Tell me about your work.’

More signs of panic. He was out on the highwire again, and teetering. ‘Like what?’

‘Like does it get you out, looking at people’s houses?’

‘That’s part of it.’

‘Someone plans to move away, so they ask you to survey the property in line with the new government legislation. You should be telling me this. Have you been invited to do a job in Apuldram in the last three weeks? Desirable country house with swimming pool?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘The owner seems to have gone. I wonder who did the survey. Tell me, Rick, if you were surveying a house and the winter cover was over the swimming pool would you lift the end to inspect underneath?’

He started to bluster. ‘I know exactly what you’re talking about and why. I’ve never been to Cartwright’s house. I had nothing to do with what happened in Apuldram.’

‘Except by association,’ Hen said. ‘You’re sleeping with one of the women who found the body and the other is your ex.’

‘You said you’d stop being personal.’

An interruption: Hen’s phone gave its call note. ‘This had better be earth-shaking,’ she said to Gary, looking round for a place with more privacy. She settled for an armchair across the room from Rick’s desk.

The caller was Stella. ‘Sorry to disturb you, guv, but you ought to know this. We’re at Bosham, Sally Frith’s house. Huge place with an amazing harbour view. We started in her bedroom and almost the first thing we found beside the bed was this photo of a guy in swimming trunks, and written across it is-wait for it- “All My Love, Rick.”’

‘Have you got it there now?’

‘In my hand.

‘Describe him.’

‘Ten years younger than her, I’d say. Blue eyes, hair bleached blond by the look of it and cut in a style of-what shall I say? — more Rod Stewart than David Beckham, if you know what I mean.’

Hen’s heart had doubled its rate, but she was keeping her responses bland, trying not to give too much away to Rick. ‘Thanks, Stell. You did the right thing calling me.’

‘Boss, don’t go yet.’

‘What?’

‘Something else you ought to know. The place has a large indoor swimming pool.’

‘Has it?’ Keeping a poker face was difficult. ‘Worth noting. See you later.’ For a moment after switching off, she paused to let her brain catch up with what she’d heard. Deciding to go for broke, she crossed the room and said in a sharp, accusing tone, ‘Sally Frith of Bosham. One of your women, right?’

‘Huh?’ Rick swayed back as if she’d aimed a blow at him.

She spoke the name a second time.

‘What’s happened?’ he said, giving a fair rendering of shock.

‘Answer the question, Rick. Is Sally Frith your lover?’

‘I see her sometimes, yes. What is it?’

‘She was the body found at Apuldram.’

A stunned silence.

Slowly his hand went to his throat and clasped it. ‘Sally?’ He’d turned ashen. His voice was reduced to a murmur. ‘I can’t believe this.’

‘Can’t believe it happened, or can’t believe I know about it?’

‘Are you certain?’

Hen gave a nod. ‘That was my colleague speaking from the house.’ She waited briefly, then said, ‘You’ve done the surprised bit now, Rick. You can answer some questions, like how long have you known the lady?’

He shifted in his chair and dragged his fingers across his mouth, surely aware of the trouble he was in. ‘I don’t know. Eighteen months, maybe. I did some work for her, a survey for some reconstruction at the house. We formed a friendship. This is so hard to believe.’

‘She was some years older than you.’

‘It didn’t matter. We didn’t discuss our ages. She was a sweet person.’

‘You know she had a criminal record?’

‘She told me. She was badly let down.’ He took in a sharp breath. ‘Do you think he did this-the bastard who got her into all that trouble?’

‘The last we heard, he was in Hong Kong. It’s unlikely he’d risk setting foot in Britain again.’

‘One of his cronies, then?’

‘What would be the point? Everything came out at her trial.’

‘Was anything stolen from the house?’

‘Too early to say. When did you see her last?’

He gave the question some thought. ‘About ten days ago. I used to visit her most Sundays.’

‘Not for church, I dare say.’

He glared back. ‘She cooked us a roast lunch. It was a regular thing. I made no secret of it. Jo knew all about it, and so did Gemma.’

‘And we don’t need to ask what was for afters. This arrangement lasted eighteen months. You appreciate being mothered, obviously.’

‘That’s unfair.’

‘Ten days ago, you say. Weren’t you there on Sunday?’

He hesitated, weighing the options. ‘I called at the house, but there was no answer.’

‘When was this?’

‘Around midday.’

‘Had you spoken to her on the phone?’

‘No. I just turned up at the usual time. I was surprised and a bit concerned actually. I waited for a while and walked around the outside. It was all locked up.’

‘Everything in order?’

‘It seemed to be. There was no sign of a break-in. Nobody else was about. The house is detached in its own grounds, so it was no use asking neighbours. I tried phoning her and got no answer. After about forty minutes, I gave up and came away.’

‘Pretty pissed off at missing your Sunday treat?’

‘A bit, if I’m honest. I tried calling her later. I was thinking she’d gone out for the day and forgotten to tell me.’

‘So what did you do for lunch?’

‘Sandwich.’

‘Where? A local pub?’

‘I went home.’

‘Pity. If you’d eaten out we might have a till receipt, or even someone who remembers you.’

‘I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t hang about because I was meeting some friends later. A birthday.’

‘And you forgot all about Sally? Where was the party?’

‘On the Isle of Wight.’

‘Anyone I know?’

‘Gemma. It was her birthday. We went to a club. And Jo was there, too.’

‘While Sally lay dead in Cartwright’s pool.’

He shouted, ‘I didn’t know that. I’ve never been near the fuck-ing place.’

Gary pointed a finger and said, ‘Cool it.’

‘Okay,’ Hen said in a calm, measured tone, ‘let’s explore what happened according to what you’ve told us. Sally wasn’t there when you arrived, and she turns up dead in Cartwright’s pool on Tuesday afternoon. The pathologist estimates she’d been dead for two to five days, probably drowned. The day of death was therefore Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. She was in a pink swimsuit. Did you ever swim with her?’

‘Never. I don’t like swimming.’

‘But Sally must have enjoyed it. She had a pool of her own.’

‘She told me she swam before breakfast every day. She believed in keeping fit.’

‘She’d need to,’ Hen said, and added, ‘All that cooking. What I can’t get my head round is why she’d go to an outdoor pool in October when she was used to swimming indoors and at home. Any suggestions?’

‘Cartwright must be alive.’

‘Did Sally know Cartwright?’

‘I couldn’t tell you.’

‘She didn’t ever mention him?’

‘She wouldn’t, would she?’

Watching for his reaction, Hen said, ‘Are you suggesting she was promiscuous?’

He shifted in his chair. ‘I’m not saying anything else without my solicitor being present.’

‘Good thinking,’ Hen said, untroubled. ‘Let’s all go back to the nick and do this properly in an interview room.’

After her disturbed night, Jo woke later than usual. The phone by the bed was going. She snatched it up, hoping to hear Jake.

The voice was male, and for a moment she was fooled into saying, ‘Sweet Jesus, I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been about you.’

The caller nervously announced himself as Adrian, her boss. ‘Have I woken you up? Sorry. You won’t have heard about the flooding. The road is under four feet of water at Singleton. There’s no way I can get in to work this morning, so I’m phoning round to see who can make it.’

Adrian lived at Midhurst, north of Singleton. Jo was south of the flooded area, and so was the garden centre. ‘I’ll try and get in.’

‘I’d be so grateful. Karen’s going to try as well. I’m not expecting customers in weather like this. My worry is that we may have flood damage ourselves. It could ruin the stock.’

‘I’ll call you if and when I get there,’ she said.

She tried Jake’s number next. No answer.

At the police station, Hen left Rick in a side room with his solicitor. The law’s delay was one of the few certainties in police work. She was not downhearted. More needed to be uncovered before she could make real inroads with this guy. Smart questioning uncovers the truth, but it has to be rooted in good detective work.

Still on her desk in the interview room in its transparent evidence bag was the invitation card that had lured Meredith Sentinel to her death. She picked it up and ran her fingertips across the embossed lettering. An elaborate con. No other cards had been traced and she was confident of her theory that this one was unique, an invitation to a non-existent reunion. If she could prove Rick had sent it, she’d be well armed for the next round.

But he couldn’t have sent it to a woman he didn’t know.

Was there a connection to Meredith, something yet to be discovered? Either he’d been around in 1987 and met her at the dig and fantasised about her ever since, or he’d got to know her more recently. Through his work? He belonged to various professional societies, and they would have meetings in London, where Meredith lived and worked. A chance encounter? She did some work for the World Wildlife Fund, her husband had mentioned. Was Rick involved in that in some capacity? He didn’t seem the sort.

She examined the card again. The embossed lettering hadn’t been done on a computer. This was a printer’s work.

Kleentext Print Solutions?

She called their number and asked to speak to Gemma Casey. The receptionist said she’d try. Some of the staff weren’t in because of the flooding.

Fortunately, Gemma answered, and Hen explained about the card and its importance to the case. ‘We think it likely that only one was printed. It’s nicely done on cream-coloured card with embossed lettering.’

‘Swanky. We do that kind of work, mainly as wedding stationery,’ Gemma said, ‘but I doubt if this was ours. Only one, you say? It would be uneconomic.’

‘Depends if the client was willing to stump up,’ Hen pointed out.

‘You’re talking fifty pounds minimum for one card.’

‘Understood,’ Hen said. ‘Well, maybe he had about fifty printed and destroyed all but one. They didn’t get sent out. I’m sure of that.’

‘Anyway, we’d have a record of it,’ Gemma said. ‘The proof would have come through my office and I can’t recall the wording you just read out. If you hang on, I’ll check to be certain. We keep a copy of everything.’ In under five minutes she was back. ‘No, it was definitely done by another printer. We don’t usually give out the names of our rivals, but in this case… ’

Hen noted them. ‘And while you’re on the line,’ she said to Gemma, ‘has your friend Rick ever spoken to you about the Selsey mammoth?’

‘The what?’

‘A mammoth was excavated in 1987.’

‘What’s it got to do with Rick?’

‘I’m wondering if he took part in the dig.’

‘All those years ago? I doubt it. I’m sure he would have boasted about it. You know what blokes are like. Jake’s the expert on things like that. He’s a fossil-hunter.’

‘True, but he wasn’t on the dig. What about you, Gemma? You were local. Did you volunteer?’

‘Me? I was only fifteen in 1987. Simon Le Bon grabbed me more than bones on a beach.’

‘Duran Duran? Didn’t they cover “Watching the Detectives”?’

‘Hey, you’re a new romantic.’

She tried the other local printers. No one remembered taking on the work. The fancy invitation wasn’t the clincher it had promised to be. If that bloody man Sentinel had found the envelope it came in, the whole investigation might have been over by now.

There was real danger of aquaplaning in several places where the road dipped between Mid Lavant and West Dean. Jo slowed and hoped she wouldn’t stall. The A286 runs alongside the River Lavant all the way up to Singleton, and there are sections where it can easily burst its banks. Fortunately everyone seemed to be treating the conditions with respect and she covered the six miles to the garden centre without mishap.

Karen from the sales staff was the only one there.

‘Any damage?’

‘Nothing serious that I’ve noticed,’ Karen said. ‘Some leaking from the roof where the glass blew out the other day. We’ve lost a few winter pansies, and that’s about it.’

‘Have you called Adrian?’

‘Not yet. Should we?’

‘He was practically having kittens when he called me an hour ago. I’ll give him a call now.’

At mid-morning, Hen called Stella for another progress report on the search at the Bosham house.

‘Like I said, we started upstairs. The main bedroom,’ Stella told her. After the Apuldram fiasco she was going to miss nothing. ‘The quilt was turned back for airing. Some of her clothes on a chair. Nightdress hanging in the bathroom. I get the impression she had a night’s sleep and got up and had a shower.’

‘Have you checked the pool area?’

‘Not properly.’

‘Do it next. According to Rick, she was in the habit of taking an early morning swim.’

‘Rick. What does he know about it?’

She updated Stella on the Sunday lunch routine.

Stella whistled and said, ‘He really had it made. Do you think he killed her?’

‘I’m taking this step by step. Have you looked for signs of a recent meal?’

‘There’s nothing obvious. If he was here, everything is cleared away. It’s extremely tidy. We’ll start our search of the kitchen shortly.’

‘Look in the fridge for the remains of a roast joint. And I expect there’s a dishwasher. See if that’s loaded. Oh, and be sure to check the rubbish, too.’

Stella wouldn’t normally need to be told. She may have felt she was being picked on for the past error. Hen wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

There was no complaint from Stella. She promised to call back shortly.

Adrian said he was ‘mightily relieved’ to know that the pansies were the only casualties. In his state of euphoria he suggested that Jo close at midday.

She passed on the good news to Karen.

‘Great,’ Karen said. ‘To tell you the truth, I found it quite eerie being alone here before you arrived. It’s weird, getting spooked by a garden centre, but I actually came out in goose pimples. I’ve never been here on my own before today. I was so pleased to hear you drive up.’

‘Yes, the place has a different feel to it,’ Jo said. ‘We haven’t even got Miss Peabody stalking us round the aisles.’

‘I can do without her,’ Karen said, grinning. ‘She lives up the road in Singleton, doesn’t she? Poor old soul, she’s probably under four feet of water.’

Singleton is the downland village where the Lavant first makes itself apparent. This sometime river (so benign in the summer months that it dries to an empty ditch) has its source in nearby East Dean. Serious flood problems affect the village in a specially wet winter because of a spring known as the Fountain, fed by another valley from the north.

Jo’s conscience stirred. ‘She’s my friend’s aunt. Maybe I should check and see if she’s all right.’

‘I expect the emergency people are doing that,’ Karen said. ‘You might get in their way.’

‘I don’t know. I think I owe it to Gemma to take a look. I could take the old lady some milk and bread from the Down Tools. They won’t be using any today. Luckily I put my wellies in the car in case I got stranded. I think it’s the first cottage you come to. We can see it from here.’

‘You can also see the flood water,’ Karen said. ‘Rather you than me.’ She laughed. ‘If you spot a pink hat floating past, you’d better give up and come back.’

Stella was quick to phone back. ‘I checked the kitchen, guv. The dishwasher had been emptied. There is a large joint of beef in the fridge.’

‘Hey, that’s what I needed to know,’ Hen said.

‘Uncooked.’

‘What?’

‘Looking at the sell-by date, it’s probably still okay. It doesn’t smell off.’

‘So she was expecting to cook.’

‘That’s for sure. There are fresh parsnips and carrots, greens, a marrow, and a packet of runner beans.’

‘Rick told the truth about that, then. She didn’t cook his Sunday lunch. She must have gone before then. She was probably dead.’

‘I also looked at the pool area, as you asked, and there’s one of those white bathrobes made of towelling.’

‘Where?’

‘Draped over a lounger, plus a spare towel.’

‘Flip-flops?’

‘Yes. Beside the lounger.’

Hen’s thoughts were in overdrive. ‘Stella, listen carefully. Don’t touch anything else. I want the pool area taped off as a crime scene. Get the white zipsuits out to the house as soon as possible. I’m almost certain she was drowned in her own pool and moved to Apuldram.’

‘The body was moved? Why?’

‘Shift the corpse and you shift the suspicion. We assumed the killer was Cartwright. Big mistake.’