The Headhunters

SEVEN

‘ Is that Fiona? ’ Jo asked, thinking as she spoke that it was not the brightest question considering that the body was face-down. But when your legs are shaking and your last meal wants to make a comeback, you’re not best placed to offer an intelligent remark.

‘She’s got red hair,’ Gemma said.

‘I can see that.’

‘I mean Fiona’s a redhead.’

‘That does narrow it down.’

‘This is where she lives and she hasn’t been seen for nearly a week.’

‘Not much doubt, then. Dreadful.’

‘Gets me right here-in the gizzard.’

Jo happened to know that a gizzard isn’t part of the human anatomy, but she let it pass. In her unique fashion Gemma was paying respect. She let a few seconds go by before raising the next obvious question. ‘What happened, do you think?’

‘Accident?’

‘Must have been.’ She was quick in her response, too quick to carry conviction. Faced with a shock like this the normal impulse is to look for the least upsetting explanation.

Gemma said in support, ‘It’s a risk she took, living so close to the water.’

‘I guess.’

Neither of them spoke while they continued to gaze down at the figure submerged in front of them. Both must have sensed that there was more to this than Fiona’s choice of where to live.

When Gemma broke the silence she was clearly making a bigger effort to convince herself. ‘I feel sure it was an accident.’ Nodding as if someone else had spoken and she agreed, she put her imagination to work again. ‘She could have had a few too many, stepped outside for some fresh air and fallen in. Or she may have come home in the dark and missed her footing. Hit her head and knocked herself out. So easy to see how it could happen.’

Jo said nothing.

‘I feel such a cow,’ Gemma added. ‘All the mean things I’ve been saying about her. Jo, what are we going to do?’

This was the moment to make one thing clear. ‘Not so much of the “we.”’

‘What?’

‘I’m staying out of this.’

Gemma turned to look at her. ‘How do you mean?’

‘I found one body already. That’s enough to be going on with.’

‘But if I report it, what are they going to think?’ Gemma said in a panicky voice. ‘Suppose they get the idea someone pushed her in? I’ve got a clear motive. She’s known to me. She was a threat to my job.’

‘That’s a fact.’

As if she’d won the point, Gemma said, ‘But you haven’t even met her. You can call the police and they’ll accept it for what it is, a chance discovery.’

Jo wasn’t swallowing that. ‘What-and tell them I was here all the time when they checked the house? Tell them I left my work and drove you here? Does that sound like a chance discovery? To the police it’s going to smell like a set-up. I’m sorry, but I’m not doing it, Gem. After going through Saturday’s line-up, I’ve done more than my share of public duty.’

‘Line-up?’

‘The ID parade.’

Gemma frowned. ‘You didn’t say anything about an ID parade.’

‘Didn’t I? I was trying to forget, standing in front of strange blokes and being expected to pick one of them out.’

‘What for?’

‘The murder of the woman at Selsey. I’m supposed to be a witness. They think I could have seen the killer when I was walking along the beach.’

‘And did you? Did you spot him?’

‘Of course not. Look, this isn’t helping us now. We’ve found a body. I don’t want to report it and neither do you.’

Their presence on the bank and facing the water was starting to attract the swans. Some were swimming across from the opposite side expecting to be fed.

‘We can’t leave her here,’ Gemma said. ‘How would you like that if it was you?’

‘I wouldn’t know anything about it. I’d be dead.’ Jo took a deep breath and made an effort to sound calm. ‘I think we should get back in the car and drive off. Someone else is going to find her soon. People are always walking round this place. I’m surprised she wasn’t found already.’

‘You don’t know how long she’s been in the water.’

‘Agreed.’

‘It could have happened this afternoon.’

‘Even more reason why we don’t want anything to do with it.’

Then Gemma came up with her most stupid suggestion yet. ‘I could tell Francisco and ask him to call the police and leave us out of it.’

‘That’s dumb. You don’t even know him that well.’

‘He’s really helpful.’

‘Have you thought why? He could have done it.’

‘Francisco?’ Gemma pulled an appalled expression.

‘He’s the neighbour. He was on the spot. We don’t know if he had a relationship with her, or if he wanted one and was given the elbow.’

‘You’re making this up.’

Rich, coming from the queen of make-believe.

‘I’m trying to make you see sense. It’s stupid asking Francisco or anyone else to report what we found. It throws suspicion on us. He’ll think we’re hiding something. He could get the idea we killed her.’

‘I don’t buy this, Jo. I don’t buy it at all.’

‘But you don’t want to get involved, right?’

‘Only because it would look so bad for me.’

‘Me, too.’

The first swans arrived and glided between the body and the bank, ignoring the grim presence of death, intent only on getting fed. Others were converging fast.

Jo said, ‘Do you want out, or are we staying here in full view of all the curtain-twitchers?’

Without more being said, they turned from the scene and walked briskly back to the car. Jo started up and drove the short distance to the turning point at the sailing club. They were soon back on the A259 heading for Chichester.

Conscience was a third passenger sitting between them.

‘What about your boss?’ Jo said, trying to shake off the guilt. ‘Where does he fit into this?’

‘Mr Cartwright?’

‘He was last seen going off with Fiona on Friday and he hasn’t been at work since. Don’t you think he might have something to do with it?’

Gemma took a sharp breath. ‘Wow! You’re way ahead of me.’

For once, Jo was, and it gave satisfaction. ‘He’s the one with questions to answer, isn’t he?’

The accident theory slipped out of the reckoning and Gemma was only too ready to speculate. ‘Maybe she overplayed her hand with him and demanded too much, like… like a share of the firm’s profits. He wasn’t having it and got rid of her.’

‘Is he the violent type?’

‘I’ve never thought of him like that.’

‘I know. You said he was nice, but there’s obviously a selfish side to him. Even the so-called nice ones have a snapping point.’

‘Dead right. All his schmoozing never impressed me. I’ve often wondered what would happen if push came to shove.’

‘Ho-hum.’

‘It’s an expression.’

‘I know. Fiona got the push.’

‘Don’t! I’m starting to believe this. Where is he now?’

‘Gone abroad, I should think.’ For a change it was Jo who embroidered the theory. ‘He’d want to put some distance between himself and the crime. He knows she’ll be found in the Mill Pond and he’ll hope it’s seen as an accident, something like we assumed when we saw her. He’ll have kidded himself nobody knows about the affair with her.’

‘He’s wrong about that.’

‘Yes, but we’re not saying anything yet.’ She was surprising herself by finding extra strength while Gemma’s confidence ebbed. ‘Let’s see how this pans out. Soon enough you’ll have the fuzz crawling all over your office. When they start asking questions that’s the time to let them know what you noticed. Not before. Don’t volunteer anything.’

‘You’re bloody good in a crisis.’

‘Trying to be sensible, that’s all. Do you want me to drop you at the print works?’

‘I need a drink to steady me.’

‘All right. Let’s find a quiet pub.’

They called at the Cricketers on the Chichester Road and had the public bar all to themselves. Gemma ordered a gin and tonic. Jo was content with a lemonade and lime. She wanted to think straight.

‘Are you still seeing Rick?’

‘On and off. Well, yes, actually,’ Gemma said.

‘It wouldn’t be such a good idea to tell him-or anyone else- about this afternoon. Let’s have a pact, shall we? What we saw in the Mill Pond is strictly between ourselves.’

‘It didn’t happen,’ Gemma said. ‘Erased, deleted, wiped.’ She took a gulp of her gin and tonic as if to speed the process. ‘Have you been out with Jake yet?’

‘I had a drink with him Saturday night.’

‘I don’t get it-you and him. You’re poles apart.’

‘Attraction of opposites.’

‘If you say so.’ Gemma rotated the lemon and ice in her drink. ‘Not like Rick and me. We’re two of a kind, really. Funny.’

‘What is?’

‘Remember when the four of us were talking in Chicago Rock about my boss, dreaming up ways to get rid of him? The Headhunters. Wasn’t it Rick who suggested the best way was to get him a life sentence?’

‘No,’ Jo said. ‘It was you.’

‘Me?’

‘Rick was going on about gruesome methods of making people disappear altogether.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘The idea of stitching up Mr Cartwright was yours. You thought of it in Starbucks. There were just the two of us. I distinctly remember you saying it.’

Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘With a memory like that, you should be on Mastermind. And now you’ve said it, I can remember something else. It was you who said we’d need a body to get a conviction.’

Jo cast her thoughts back. ‘True. And now we’ve got one.’

‘Weird.’

‘Bit of a coincidence, certainly.’

‘I’d say it’s creepy. The stitch-up could really happen if Mr Cartwright gets pulled in for murdering Fiona. He could be banged up for life.’ Her mouth curved upward. ‘I’ll be leading the cheers.’

‘Hold on,’ Jo said. ‘You’re racing ahead again. We don’t have any reason to think she was murdered. I thought we decided it was an accident.’

‘We talked in the car about him pushing her in.’

‘We were both feeling guilty for not going to the police. It was a relief to throw suspicion on someone else.’

Gemma frowned. ‘You’ve changed your mind already?’

‘We should take a more balanced view now.’

‘Accident?’

‘Unless someone proves us wrong.’

‘They’ll do a post mortem, won’t they?’

‘Sure to.’

Gemma gave a wicked smile. ‘And you’re going to look pretty damn silly when they find the mark where the poisoned arrow went in. Did I tell you my boss took a cruise up the Amazon last year and met one of those tribes who use curare for hunting?’

‘You didn’t, and I don’t believe a word of it.’

‘He’s also a Russian spy.’

Jo laughed. ‘Working at the printers’ in Fishbourne? I don’t think so.’

‘All will be revealed.’

‘I can’t wait. That drink must be doing you good. You’re sounding more like the Gemma I know.’

‘Permanently pissed?’

‘Nicely relaxed.’

‘I did panic a bit, seeing the body. First time for me. You’re more experienced.’

‘By a few days only. I don’t intend to make a habit of it.’

‘Do they know who she was-the dead woman on the beach?’

‘If they do, they haven’t told me.’

‘What if there’s a link with Fiona?’

‘It would be surprising.’ Time to draw the line, she thought. ‘Gemma, this isn’t getting us anywhere. We ought to stop speculating and get back to normality.’

‘Coffee in Starbucks on Saturday?’

‘Good suggestion.’

They drank up and returned to the car.

Jo didn’t have much confidence in Gemma. She’d soon be chirping like a sparrow to Rick about the body in the Mill Pond. She might even tell all to the police if they arrived at the print works. There were people constitutionally incapable of keeping anything to themselves and Gemma was a prime example. The best hope was that this death would be treated by the police as an accident and dealt with by those constables in uniform who searched the house. Not CID. Please God, not Hen Mallin.

After dropping Gemma in town she drove home, trying to put the best spin on what had happened, but getting increasingly anxious. She took a lasagne from the freezer and popped it in the microwave before listening to her messages. Her mother was home from hospital and asking her to visit. Someone from a call centre wanted to know if she was satisfied with her electricity bill. The bank needed her to call in about some query on her account. The overdraft, no doubt. It didn’t seem to matter so much any more.

Nothing from Jake. She’d hoped to hear from him. A whole weekend was coming up and they hadn’t fixed to meet. She didn’t like doing all the chasing.

Nothing, either, praise be, from DCI Mallin about the dead woman at Selsey. Was it too much to hope she’d found other people to question?

She transferred the lasagne to the cooker to crisp up the top. Then she pressed one of the preset numbers on the phone.

‘Mummy?’

The voice that answered was steeped in self-pity. ‘Is that you, Josephine? Good of you to call at last. I’m home now.’

‘That’s why I’m phoning. I got your message.’

‘The standard of care in that hospital was nil. They push you out as soon as they can.’

‘I thought you couldn’t wait to leave.’

‘That isn’t the point. I’m not fit to cope and your father’s a dead loss, as you know. Shall I see you this weekend?’

‘Mummy, it’s the worst possible time. They want me in at work and I’ve got all the chores to catch up on. I’ve had one hell of a week. Can we leave it that if I do find a space I’ll let you know?’

The disapproval would not have disgraced Lady Bracknell. ‘Find a space? Is that how you think of me? If you’ve got more important things to do don’t trouble yourself.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘I’ll survive, no doubt. The migraine attacks will calm down eventually, they told me. Meanwhile I can’t do a thing. Can’t sleep, can’t relax. Watching television is out of the question. What were you doing at Selsey, anyway?’

‘You heard about that?’

‘It was on the front page of the paper. I couldn’t miss it. They got your age wrong, of course. If they’d come to me I could have put them right. I see that they’re still trying to identify the dead woman. You’d think they’d know by now.’

‘When did you hear that?’

‘This evening on the local news, that nice Sally person. I always think she’d make someone a wonderful daughter.’

‘So you’ve seen some TV?’

There was a pause for rapid thought. ‘I expect your father mentioned it. He watches far too much. Do you want to speak to him? He’s in the kitchen trying to boil an egg for me. It’s sure to be like concrete.’

‘Don’t disturb him, then. Just give him my love. I’ll call as soon as I can.’ She usually finished with, ‘Take care,’ but the sentiment might not be appreciated this time.

Strange that the woman at Selsey remained a mystery. You’d think someone would have reported her missing by now, more than two weeks on. Presumably Hen Mallin and her team were studying all reports of missing women. In a way, Jo wanted to know who the victim was, yet at the same time she dreaded finding out. A name and a life and family ties would make her more real, and give the whole experience more potential for lasting trauma.

Lasting trauma? More like Mummy every day, she thought.

She poured herself a glass of red wine and ate her supper listening to local radio. News bulletins came every half hour, but there was nothing about the Selsey woman or the body in the Emsworth Mill Pond. Maybe Fiona was still in the water, condemned to another night. She recalled what DCI Mallin had said about the appearance of a body after a lengthy immersion and then she couldn’t finish the lasagne.

About eight she took the plunge and called Jake’s number.

‘Yes?’

She warmed to his voice, even though it sounded strained. ‘It’s me-Jo.’

‘Hi.’

‘We said we’d stay in touch. I was wondering if you’ve got plans for the weekend.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised, Jake. We spoke in the pub about this. Have the police been onto you again?’

‘No.’

‘That’s all right, then. You sound kind of guarded. I’m a bit frazzled, too, and I’d really like to see you.’ The difficulty dealing with anyone as reticent as Jake was that you were forced into making all the suggestions and so seeming manipulative. ‘Are you free Saturday? I’d enjoy some more time with you.’

‘Where?’

‘I’m still wanting to get up my courage and take a walk along the front at Selsey. We were all set to meet on the day you were picked up by the police.’

‘Selsey?’ He spoke the name as if it was Death Valley.

‘Restoring my confidence. Remember?’

‘Yes.’

It wasn’t clear whether he was confirming the memory or agreeing to meet, but Jo was sure what she had in mind. ‘Shall we say the car park at the end of the High Street?’

‘I suppose.’

‘At two?’

‘All right.’

She was disappointed he wasn’t more animated. Last time they’d spoken she’d thought he was getting confident with her. He sounded uncomfortable now. That experience of being arrested was preying on his mind. Understandable, considering his time in prison.

On local radio at ten-thirty the same evening it was announced that a woman’s body had been found in the Mill Pond at Emsworth. She had not yet been formally identified, but she was believed to have been a local resident who had been missing for about a week.

The phone rang shortly after.

‘Did you hear?’ Gemma gasped in end-of-the-world mode. ‘It was on Southern Counties Radio. They found Fiona, just when I was starting to convince myself we imagined it. She’s dead, Jo. It really happened. I’m clawing at the walls here, I feel so guilty.’ No problem over poor communication from this caller.

Gemma seemed to expect a show of panic. Instead, Jo said, ‘We should be pleased they found her, Gem. Personally, I wouldn’t have got much sleep tonight thinking she was still in that water.’

‘Yes, but I’m a prize bitch for trying to get her in trouble at work. That dumb trick with the council leaflets makes me squirm.’

‘That dumb trick wasn’t your idea. Anyway, she didn’t find out about it. She wasn’t there all week.’

‘Even so, it’s bound to come out, isn’t it?’

‘There’s no reason why it should if you do what I said and get them pulped. If anyone wonders what you’re doing it’s going to look like an act of kindness. She made a blunder and you’re quietly covering up out of consideration for her memory.’

‘That’s good. No, it’s bloody brilliant. I didn’t think of it that way.’

‘Stay cool, Gem.’

Out on the beach where it shelved steeply Hen Mallin treated herself to an intake of ozone mixed with nicotine whilst listening to the small pebbles being raked by the tide. She had a flat scallop shell in her hand and was using it as an ashtray, over-fastidious, but smokers have learned to cover their tracks. She kept a tiny spray of Ralph Lauren’s Romance for when she needed to suppress the fumes. Behind her, the mobile incident room was being tidied prior to removal. She’d decided this abomination was serving no useful purpose here on the beach. The fingertip searches, the appeals for witnesses, had been tried with limited success. Some of the staff had been so underemployed that she’d seen them down at the water’s edge playing ducks and drakes. Little was in the computer system except the statements by the woman who had found the body and the two local men known to have been on the beach at the time: Ferdy Hamilton, the dog-walker, and Jake Kernow, the ex-con. Hamilton was the nearest they’d got to finding an informant. He’d named Jake as a suspicious character he’d seen along the beach on the morning the body was found. Jake was the big, laconic fellow who had been tracked down, interviewed, and put through the ID parade, but with a negative result. That didn’t mean he was in the clear. Jo Stevens had failed to pick him out, that was all. He remained the only suspect. With his prison record and his shifty responses under questioning he had to be a serious contender. But there wasn’t enough to charge him, and no one else had come knocking at the door of the mobile incident room with names.

She heard the shingle being crunched behind her as one of the team approached.

‘Saying goodbye to it, guv?’ Stella said.

‘Damn good thing, too,’ Hen said. ‘Let it go back to being a beach instead of a crime scene.’

‘Don’t you think people will remember?’

‘Not for long. The tides come and go. The whole thing changes. By next summer there’ll be children bathing from here.’

‘And we’ll have put the case to bed?’

‘Don’t count on it. This one could stay unsolved.’

‘I hope not. It’s an ugly crime.’

‘Too bloody true.’ Hen had been locked for too long in her own morbid thoughts. Sharing them was a relief. ‘I was watching the waves and thinking about the physical and mental demands of holding someone under the water until they stop breathing. Apparently death by drowning can take all of five minutes. Longer, even. Can you imagine holding someone under for that long?’

Stella gave a shudder. ‘Slow murder. Horrible.’

‘Different from pulling a trigger or knifing them. Plenty of time to think about what you’re doing. You’d have to be pitiless.’

‘Imagine being the victim, held for that long.’

‘Yes, you’d fight for your life, but it wouldn’t be easy. All your efforts are constricted by the water. You might inflict some scratches or bruises, but if your killer has a good grip, it must be bloody hard to break free.’

‘I’d give it a go.’

‘Anyone would. You’re also trying to hold your breath until you have to let go and give way to the inrush of water into your lungs. You’re panicking and getting weaker all the time. To be honest, Stell, this is the first case of homicide by drowning I’ve had to deal with, and it gives me the creeps just thinking about it. They’re mercifully rare. Pathologists don’t like them, either. Drowning is difficult to prove at post mortem.’

‘You’d think it would be obvious.’

‘For one thing-and this is what I learned from the guy who did the autopsy-a fresh water drowning produces a reaction quite different from sea water. The blood volume increases rapidly when fresh water pours into the lungs and there’s a strong chance of it causing a heart attack. It can be quick, very quick, if there’s a cardiac arrest, as there often is, from the shock. Then they die from submersion, rather than drowning. But almost the opposite happens in the sea. Water is sucked from the plasma into the lungs, so the heart isn’t under the same strain. Your chance of survival is higher in the sea.’

‘Plenty of people do drown.’

‘I’m not disputing that. You’re more likely to have an accident at sea than you are in the bath at home or the local pool. I’m simply saying that if you’re immersed in salt water you may last longer. When someone holds you down the result is the same; it takes more time, that’s all.’

‘I suppose if they first got you drunk, or drugged, it would be quicker.’

‘True.’

‘Do we know the time of death?’

‘You’re joking, of course. Does a pathologist ever give you a time of death? They can only make informed guesses. The body was found between eight and nine in the morning, so it’s likely she was killed the evening before, or during the night, or in the early hours of daylight.’

‘The reason I asked is that if she was given alcohol or drugs it could have been at some kind of beach party the night before. It was a warm September night, wasn’t it?’

‘Warm enough for a barbie, yes.’

‘But no signs of one? Was any alcohol found in the body?’

‘A small amount. The signs are that she hadn’t had much.’

‘Except that she’d stripped almost naked. I’d need a few drinks before I did that on a public beach. Even on a dark night.’

‘I’d have to be out of my head,’ Hen said.

‘Moon bathing, guv. You must have tried it some time.’

Hen returned the cigar to her lips and visited old times. ‘Once in my youth-and in a decent one-piece costume. I’m an Essex girl. The only beach I knew was Southend. I wouldn’t recommend romping in the nude there.’

‘Do you think he undressed her?’

‘The heavy seduction scene? I can’t picture it happening. It’s much more likely the stripping was voluntary on her part. If, say, we forget the moon bathing and think about an early morning photo call, our lady there to have her picture taken, a boob shot, she might have agreed to strip down to her pants.’

‘Back to the calendar idea?’ Stella asked.

‘Or some sort of glamour picture. We agreed she wasn’t young enough to be working as a model, but any woman in her thirties is vulnerable to some guy with a camera suggesting she’d look gorgeous flashing her tits.’

‘I still favour the midnight bathing. They go skinny dipping and-just like you-she’s too shy to do it in the buff so she keeps her pants on.’

‘Either way, there’s a nasty element of deception. She’s conned into stripping off by someone she trusts. She’d be crazy to do it for a stranger.’

‘Is it possible he removed the clothes after the drowning?’

‘Why would he do that? To make identification more difficult, I suppose.’ Hen weighed the possibility for a moment. ‘It’s not out of the question, but I can’t see it. Struggling with wet clothes wouldn’t be easy or quick. Any killer’s impulse is to quit the scene as soon as possible. And why would she enter the water fully clothed?’

‘Dragged in?’

Hen pulled a sceptical face.

‘I guess you’re right,’ Stella said. ‘It’s pretty unlikely.’

‘It’s all unlikely until we find out who she was and why she was there.’

‘I came down to say that we’re about ready to move off.’

‘Let’s go, then.’ She stubbed out the cigar and felt for her scent spray. ‘Things can only get better.’