The Headhunters

FOUR

‘This is getting to me,’ Hen Mallin said to Stella Gregson, who was managing the mobile incident room on the front at Selsey. They were sitting on the steps in front of the open door so that Hen could smoke one of her evil-smelling cigarillos. ‘I never fancied a caravan holiday.’

Stella had worked with Hen ever since their days at Bognor police station and knew when the boss was in danger of erupting. Ten days into the investigation they still hadn’t identified the victim. ‘Things could be worse. Makes a nice change from the nick. Fresh sea air.’

‘You think so? I’m an Essex girl, raised on petrol fumes.’

‘A tough case brings out the best in you.’

‘It isn’t a case at all yet.’

‘I can’t think what else we can try, guv. The posters are everywhere. We had the front page in all the local papers. Television news.’

‘And what have we got for it? Sweet FA.’

‘There can’t be anyone left in Selsey who hasn’t heard.’

‘Have we scared them off, parking this Port-a-Loo at the scene, or what? Even the attention-seekers are shunning us. We might as well shut up shop and shift back to the nick. At least you get a burger and chips there.’

‘You get freshly caught fish here. I took home two beautiful fillets of plaice last night.’

‘Great-if you’ve got the energy to cook at the end of the day.’

‘My fellow does the cooking.’

‘Be like that.’ Hen lived alone in a Bognor terrace. Her police career had always come first, and, unlike Stella, she’d never thought of sharing her home with a cop. She’d been raised in a working class family in Dagenham, but the raising had stopped at five foot one, and when she’d confided to her sister and two older brothers that she wanted to join the police they’d teased her without mercy. For the next year she was PC Shortarse and had to put up with ee-ah siren sounds whenever she appeared. She’d refused to be downed and answered a recruitment ad as soon as she was old enough. For the interview she’d added extra inches with platform shoes and her hair on top in a bun. Even the interviewer had poked fun, telling her the ballet school was up the street, but she’d toughed it out and said she had her own version of the Nutcracker called the ballbuster. And here she was, twelve years on, running a murder squad.

Stella switched the talk back to the investigation. ‘I’ve been asking myself why it’s so quiet. It’s a small community, just a village really. Suppose word got round that talking to us is not encouraged?’

‘A conspiracy of silence? I don’t think so, Stell. You don’t see that in their faces. Nobody cares enough. If we could put a name to the victim, we’d get a response, believe me.’

‘There are still no reports of missing women.’

‘I’m wondering about house-to-house.’

Now it was Stella’s turn to get uptight. ‘Do you want my honest opinion, guv?’

‘Save your breath,’ Hen said. ‘I know where you’re coming from. It wouldn’t be cost-effective. If we knew what happened to the victim’s clothes, we might get somewhere.’

‘Taken by the sea?’

‘I doubt it. You’ve seen the tideline all the way along. Enough rubbish to fill a quarry. Things get washed up here, not swept out.’

‘And everything along the beach has been sifted by the search squad.’

‘I’m not complaining at the effort,’ Hen said. ‘I want to know why, that’s all. Either some local ne’er-do-well found her kit and nicked it and is scared to own up, or the killer saw the sense in disposing of it. I would, and so would you.’

Uncomfortably close to home. Stella hesitated before asking, ‘So are we talking about someone with police experience?’

‘Not these days. Any couch potato with a telly gets the basics about forensics most nights of the week.’

The dialogue was interrupted briefly by some screaming gulls fighting over a fish head. Burgers still got Hen’s vote.

Stella threw in another suggestion. ‘What about the woman who found her?’

‘Jo Stevens?’

‘What’s she like?’

‘Ordinary. Profoundly shaken up by the experience. Lives in Chi and has the occasional walk down here at weekends. I got the impression she was keeping something back. It could be down to nerves, but she was pretty tight-lipped when I asked.’

‘Could that be because she picked up the victim’s clothes?’

Hen turned to look at her. ‘That’s a thought.’

‘Is she short of a few bob?’

‘Shouldn’t be. She’s in work. Mind, we don’t even know if the clothes were worth taking. No, on second thoughts she’d have found nicking them difficult. She was still at the scene when the patrol car answered the shout. The things must have walked before she got here.’

‘What’s she holding back, then?’

‘Don’t know. It’s just the vibe I was getting from her.’

‘Would you like me to have a go at her?’

Hen shook her head. ‘I don’t want her retreating into her shell.’

Stella wasn’t known for bullying tactics, but she let the remark pass. ‘Could she be a suspect?’

Hen flicked ash on the pebbles. ‘What, drowned the woman and raised the alarm herself? It wouldn’t be unknown in the annals of crime. I dare say there’s a syndrome with a special name for it. In the absence of any other suspects, Stella, I’m keeping an open mind on Miss Jo Stevens.’

‘And the men she saw along the beach, the jogger and the dog-owner?’

‘Still trying to trace them. Like I said, Selsey people aren’t the best at coming forward. This box on wheels looks too much like a prison vehicle. Speaking of which, I’m still interested in local villains.’

‘We checked the sex offenders’ register on the first day and drew a blank, as you know.’

‘This may not be about sex.’

‘Nothing showed up in the post mortem.’

‘My point exactly. It’s easy to get carried away with the idea that because she was undressed it was for one thing only.’

‘What else is there?’

‘Skinny dipping, for starters. This was a warm September night. At this end of summer, the sea temperature is as high as it gets.’

‘I haven’t heard of nude bathing down here.’

‘These things go on, Stell.’

‘In Selsey?’

‘All along the coast. There’s an entire beach in Brighton that is set aside for the birthday suit brigade. I once walked by out of curiosity. Didn’t exactly inflame me. And then there’s art.’

‘There’s what?’

‘Photography in the main, celebrating the naked form, usually female. Page three girls. Not just the Sun. Lads’ mags. Even posh Sunday colour magazines pay big bucks for that kind of stuff. Beaches are favoured locations. Not that your average girl-fancier wastes much time looking at the background.’

‘And they call it art!’

‘I hope I haven’t got a Philistine on my team. This is commercial art. Cash for the models, fees for the photographers, and sales for the newsagents.’

‘Do you think our victim was a model, then?’

‘Actually, no. At thirty plus, she was a bit old for that. Unless it was amateur photography. The local camera club.’

‘A Women’s Institute calendar. What was that film?’ Stella asked, playing to Hen’s improving mood.

‘It had a thousand imitations. The world’s moved on.’

‘But has this place?’

‘Going by Bognor, where I live, probably not. But I haven’t heard Selsey is planning anything quite so risque. Someone would have told us, wouldn’t they?’

‘Are they telling us anything?’

‘You can’t get up to frolics like that without half the village knowing about it.’

‘We don’t know half the village.’

‘Which is why house-to-house has its attractions,’ Hen said. ‘You walked into that.’

Behind them, a phone went. One of the computer operators inside the van would take it.

‘What we need is someone out here under an awning,’ Hen said. ‘Know what I mean? A canvas thing with coloured stripes. We’re on a beach, for God’s sake. Let’s meet the public as they walk by.’

She was called to the phone.

Stella waited, hoping whoever it was would put the awning out of the boss’s mind. Outside was no place to be when the wind got up.

‘Breakthrough,’ Hen said, stepping out again, elated. ‘A witness has surfaced. Says he was on the beach on the day she was found. He was exercising his dog. This is the guy with the poodle.’

Twenty past two and Jake was late. They were supposed to meet on the path opposite the lifeboat station, and it wasn’t the best of choices. The sharp east wind coming off the sea was getting through Jo’s padded jacket and chilling her. Unusually for her, she was shivering. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand here.

She should have asked for his mobile number. She assumed he carried a phone. He’d need one in his line of work, just to keep in touch with colleagues. She wasn’t sure what nature conservancy entailed, except that labelling shingle plants was part of it. A man out on the reserve would need to stay in contact.

The arrangement had been clear, she thought. Friday at two. If something had gone wrong he could have called the garden centre and left a message for her. She’d just checked and she had no voicemail. He wouldn’t have reached her at home because he didn’t know her number, or even where she lived. This early in a friendship you don’t exchange addresses.

Plenty of things might have delayed him, and she kept playing them through her mind. She didn’t wish to face the other possibility: that he’d stood her up. It was hard to know how any man’s mind worked, and Jake’s shyness was an extra barrier. So for the moment she preferred to think something had gone wrong at home, a burst pipe or a gas leak. He’d get the problem fixed as soon as possible and come hurrying to meet her.

If she was wrong and a domestic emergency wasn’t the reason, she supposed he could have made a mistake about the time. Or even the day. Forgetfulness would be preferable to rejection.

Clutching at her arms, trying to rub warmth into them, she looked again along the path in each direction. Few scenes are so bleak as the seaside on a grey autumn day. To the east, where the wind was coming from, she could see the black trailer the police had parked opposite the place where she’d found the body. It just depressed her more.

He’d said he lived in Selsey but she had no idea which part. No one else was in sight. The only life in view was the gulls gliding on the stiff wind, and they were pretty inactive, not needing to move their wings. This was looking like a lost cause.

I hate this place, she thought. Once it was all right, but now it’s linked with that poor woman’s death and the hard time I was given by those detectives. If I’m honest with myself I’m only here for the chance to spend time with Jake. I don’t really have to put myself through this.

She looked at her watch again. Maybe the poor guy was ill, too far gone to make contact. That would be dreadful, but was it realistic? People his age didn’t get ill very often, not ill enough to be stuck indoors. If she stayed here much longer she’d be the one who was ill. Soon she’d have to admit he wasn’t going to appear and hadn’t bothered to let her know.

Ten more minutes, then.

Those minutes passed and he didn’t come.

On Saturday in Starbucks Gemma was even more hyper than usual. ‘You’re a crafty minx, putting those wicked ideas in my head. I’ve done the dirty now. There’s no going back. The ordure hits the air conditioning next week, about Tuesday morning, I reckon.’

‘You went through with it?’

‘Calm down. You look like the bird that went for a worm and pecked through the electric cable. This was your suggestion, remember. Yesterday she left about three-thirty and so did he.’

‘Together?’

‘Take a wild guess. So it gave me the chance to get into her computer. To be honest, I was in two minds even then, but I didn’t know the half of it. You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff he’s syphoned off to her in the last week. I went mental when I saw it all on screen. These aren’t jumble sale posters, Jo, they’re major projects, colour magazines, and Christmas catalogues for some of our top clients. Work I’ve always handled.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘Just like you said, I bumped up one of the orders from five thou to five hundred thou.’

‘Good. Which one?’

‘A council booklet about waste disposal.’

Jo raised a clenched fist. ‘I like it. She’ll be waste herself when this gets found out.’

Gemma rolled her eyes upwards. ‘I’m not so comfortable with it now.’

‘Why?’

‘Basically, I’m a coward. I’m hoping the printer queries it with Mr Cartwright.’

‘That’s no use,’ Jo said. ‘The business has to suffer, or she’ll walk all over you and so will he. You want half a million useless booklets stacked up for everyone to see.’

Gemma whistled. ‘Half a million? Is that how much it comes to?’

‘Five hundred thou, you said.’

‘I’m wetting my pants over this.’

‘Believe me, if it doesn’t hurt him where it matters, in his pocket, your Mr Cartwright is going to forgive and forget and Fiona will be sitting at your desk before the end of the year. Be strong, Gem.’

Gemma’s way of being strong was to bite her lip and flap her hand in front of her face, and Jo felt her own confidence falter, in spite of all she’d said. She’d set this up and people’s careers were at risk. Someone was going to suffer, whatever the justification for the thing.

Jo changed the subject. ‘How are you and Rick getting on? Have you been out with him again?’

‘A couple of times,’ Gemma said. ‘The lad is shaping up. We’ve got the same taste in films, which is good. But we haven’t had sex yet, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘D’you mind? I wouldn’t be so nosy.’

‘Did you sleep with him when you two were going out?’

Jo smiled. ‘I see. It’s all right to ask me. As a matter of fact, I didn’t. Things got a bit physical, if you get me, but I wasn’t ready for the main course.’

‘I bet he was.’

‘Possibly, but it takes two.’

‘He behaved like a gent, then? Adjusted his dress and wished you a polite good evening?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I don’t plan on telling him about my war with Fiona,’ Gemma said. ‘That’s between you and me, right?’

‘Fine.’

‘I know I can trust you not to blurt it out. Can’t count on Rick keeping it to himself. Know what I mean?’

‘Understood.’

‘I’ve nothing against him. He’s fun to be with, but I’ve got to keep this schtum. I mean, it doesn’t reflect very well on me. I don’t mind you knowing because it was all your idea.’

‘As you keep reminding me.’

‘That’s me accounted for, then,’ Gemma said. ‘How about you and old motormouth? Are you two an item yet?’

‘Hardly.’ Jo felt the colour rise. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

‘Come on, babe, it’s obvious you fancy him something wicked. Look at you now, a poinsettia in full bloom.’

‘You’re so wrong.’

‘Don’t mind me. Just because I call him names it doesn’t mean a thing. I’m always slagging off blokes. It’s a sport. You’ve got to make the first move, you know. He’s chronically shy. If you wait for him to ask, you’ll still be waiting when you get your bus pass. Fix a time and place and tell him to be there.’

Jo didn’t enlighten her about Selsey. ‘He isn’t interested.’

‘Bet he is. Want me to find out?’

‘No,’ Jo said sharply. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Look at the state you’re in. Simmer down, babe. You’ve got it bad, haven’t you? All right, do it your way. I won’t interfere.’

‘You’ve got this all wrong.’

‘I’m sure. Be funny, wouldn’t it, if we swapped blokes?’

‘Oh, hilarious,’ Jo said.

Back home the light was winking on the answerphone. She pressed it before taking off her coat. The voice was not Jake’s. It was female. And familiar.

‘Miss Stevens? Hen Mallin-DCI Mallin. We spoke the other day. Give me a call directly you get back, would you?’ She gave the number.

What did they want now? Jo hung up her coat and looked at the mail. Junk, all of it. Nothing with a local postmark.

She went back to the phone.

‘Thank you for calling in, my dear,’ Hen Mallin said, all sweetness and light now. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask. When you told us about finding the body at Selsey you mentioned seeing a couple of men.’

‘Did I?’

‘The one in the tracksuit and the one with the dog. What I’d like is for you to see if you can recognise the jogger.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Pick him out from a line-up. An identification parade.’

Jo gasped and her mouth went dry. ‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see him well enough for that.’

‘When you get a proper look at him again, you might find it refreshes your memory. No pressure. It’s all done through one-way glass and you get a cup of tea if you want.’

‘But the people I saw just happened to be out for a walk that morning like me. They weren’t acting suspiciously or anything.’

‘Understood. They’re probably innocent, but we do need to eliminate them from our enquiry, and only you can help. I’ll send a car. It will take a couple of hours to set this up. We’ll pick you up about four-thirty.’

How could she refuse? She wished she’d left that beach without reporting what she’d found. You just don’t know what it will lead to when you help the police.

She was still trying to think of a get-out when the police car drew up outside the flat. She hated the idea of fingering someone who might be innocent.

They’d sent a chatty policewoman to fetch her. She was worse than some taxidrivers, on about the government and public sector pay rates and the price of housing and the problems of immigration. When Jo stepped out of the car in the police station yard she scattered umpteen shreds of paper tissue on the ground. She hadn’t noticed herself doing it.

Hen Mallin greeted her like an old friend and took her upstairs. ‘I won’t be at your side, I’m afraid,’ she said, as if that would disappoint. ‘The rules require that you’re taken in by an identification officer who isn’t on the investigation.’

‘I’ve given this a lot of thought-’ Jo started to say.

‘Not a good idea,’ Hen said. ‘Relax. You’ll know at once if you recognise the guy. The eyes have it, as they say-much better than trying to remember.’

‘I don’t want to do it.’

‘No one ever does. Look at it this way. It’s better than a visit to the mortuary. We’re not asking you to identify the corpse.’

There seemed to be no option. Hen introduced her to Sergeant Malcolm, a young man looking more anxious than Jo was. ‘My first time,’ he said.

‘Mine, too.’

‘There’s a gentleman in there already. He’s a solicitor. It’s important this is done properly or he’ll be down on me like the proverbial ton of bricks. The parade is also being videoed. When we go in you’ll be shown nine men, including the suspect.’

‘Suspect?’ Jo said. ‘Have you arrested someone?’

‘That’s the whole point of this.’

‘Then I don’t want to do it. Definitely.’

‘You can’t back out now,’ Sergeant Malcolm said in alarm. ‘All these people have given up their time. The solicitor came in specially. It isn’t scary at all, not for you. They can’t see you.’

‘What if I don’t recognise any of them?’

‘Not your problem. You’ll help me, won’t you, miss?’

‘If I must.’

‘Each of them has a number. When you identify anyone, you just say the number. But please take a really good look at each of them. Walk along the line twice, at least, and take as much time as you want. Ready?’ He opened a door.

It was almost dark in there. She was aware of a man in a suit standing at the opposite end, and someone with a camera. Then some lights came on and the area to her right was revealed through glass.

Her stomach lurched. She was facing a row of nine men, and the third one in was Jake.