A Wreath for my Sister (8 page)

‘Makes most dates seem kind of tame, doesn't it?' There was no answer to that.

Joanna glanced back at the pub. ‘Have you spoken to them?'

‘Not much,' Barraclough said. ‘Just mentioned it had connections with a major incident. I thought I'd leave it to you.'

‘Thanks.' Joanna looked curiously at the car, peered in through the window. On the passenger side lay a thick, pink anorak, neatly folded. It looked designed to keep snow out.

Mike frowned at it. ‘On such a cold night,' he said, ‘why leave the coat in the car? Her dress was a skimpy thing. Bare shoulders. It wouldn't have kept her warm. She'd have got cold even walking from the car to the pub.'

‘It's easy to see you don't understand women!' she said, looking pityingly at Mike. ‘Pink anorak over your best red dress?'

He frowned at her.

‘The two colours clash.'

He laughed. ‘Mind you, Joanna,' he said, ‘if it was the chap from the ad that might have been the way he knew it was her. The red dress.'

She nodded. ‘It's possible. But from what Christine Rattle told me, he'd have no trouble recognizing her because he already knew her. Mike,' she said, ‘when we get back to the station I want you to stick a pair of gloves on and study his letters. If there's anything there that gives us the slightest hint who our Prince Charming is I want to know about it.'

She spoke to Barraclough then. ‘OK.' She nodded. ‘Get the car on a low-loader and down to the police pound and we'll let the forensics boys have a look at it.'

But as she walked around to the front of the pub she said to Mike, ‘I don't think we'll get much from it, if anything. I'm convinced she locked the car and went into the pub. And that was the last contact she had with the vehicle.'

The black painted front door was firmly closed. Mike picked up the knocker and dropped it loudly. They stood back and waited.

A girl opened it just a fraction. ‘What do you want?'

‘Police,' Mike said, holding up his ID card. ‘We want to ask some questions in connection with a major incident.'

The girl's eyes opened wide. ‘What major incident?'

‘Can we come in, love?'

The girl nodded and stood back.

The pub was dark inside and pungent with the stink of stale tobacco and spilt beer. They were obviously still cleaning up. Glasses lined the bar and the girl was holding a red and white check tea-towel.

‘Any chance I could speak to the landlady?'

‘She ain't here. What's it about?'

‘The car that was found in your car park.' Joanna felt this was a decent starting point.

The girl blinked. ‘What's the problem?' She gave them a world-weary glance. ‘Another one stolen?'

Joanna shook her head and the girl picked up a glass from the sink and began polishing it. ‘What, then?'

She sounded almost bored by the whole business.

‘The woman who drove it here.'

‘Look.' The girl frowned. ‘I don't know who drove it here. I don't see people parking their cars. They put them round the back or across the road. Jack the bloody Ripper could have drove it 'ere for all I know.'

‘It was a young woman who drove it here,' Joanna said steadily, ‘on Tuesday night.' She looked at the barmaid. ‘Perhaps you weren't on duty that night?'

The girl nodded. ‘I was here. What did she look like?'

‘Slim, in a dark red dress. Auburn shoulder-length hair.' She stopped. ‘I think you might remember her. It was snowing but she wasn't wearing a coat. Her shoulders were bare.'

The girl's curiosity was finally aroused. ‘I do remember her. She was sitting over there.' She indicated the plush seat nearest the door. ‘She was here for ages, waiting for her boyfriend. She kept staring out of the window.' She paused. ‘I reckoned it must be someone she'd fancied a long time.'

‘Why?' Mike's question was brusque and the barmaid looked annoyed.

‘Because she went to the toilets twice to do her hair and put more lipstick on.' She giggled. ‘And she looked nervous. Her hand was shaking holding her glass.'

She stopped suddenly, as though her memory had been pricked. She moved her gaze from Joanna to Mike. ‘What's happened to her?' she asked.

‘Did the bloke come in the end?' It was Mike, still sounding impatient.

‘Sort of,' the barmaid said reluctantly. ‘At least I suppose it was the bloke she'd been waiting for.' She stared out of the window. ‘Pulls up outside – noisy as hell – flashes his lights straight into the lounge. She stands up, walks to the door. Bloke standing there. She says something to him, and off they go.'

‘What did he look like?'

‘I dunno.' The barmaid shrugged her shoulders. ‘He was wearing an anorak, hood up. I didn't think there was anything funny about it,' she said defensively. ‘It was a bloody freezing night. I couldn't see his face. I was busy. And I didn't really look. He was slim.' She glanced at Mike. ‘Slimmer than you. Quite tall.' Again she looked at Mike. ‘Your sort of height. She went off with him. That's all I know.' She looked helplessly at Joanna. ‘Well, I didn't know, did I? I didn't know something was going on.' She screwed her eyes up. ‘Anyway,' she said, ‘what was goin' on?'

When neither of them replied she said more aggressively, ‘Come on, I'll read it all in the evenin' paper.'

‘The girl's been found dead,' Joanna said reluctantly. ‘The body on the moors. It was her.'

The barmaid looked disbelievingly from one to the other. ‘I don't believe it,' she said. ‘She just looked ordinary ... normal.'

‘She didn't know she was about to be killed,' Mike said sarcastically. ‘She thought she was on a date.'

The girl blinked. ‘I don't think there was anything I could have done.'

‘It's all right.' Joanna was getting too familiar with this defensive attitude to crime. ‘Of course you didn't know. But just think carefully. Was there anything – anything at all – that might help us identify this man? Had you ever seen him before?'

The girl stopped, then shook her head slowly. ‘He wasn't one of our regulars. At least I don't think he was.' Her face filled with uncomfortable fascination. ‘What exactly happened to her?'

‘We can't release details,' Joanna said.

‘I never knew anyone who got murdered,' she said in awe. ‘A suicide, and a friend of my brother's who got paralyzed in a car accident. But murder ...'

Mike glanced at Joanna and she knew what he was thinking. What a ghoul.

She looked at the girl. ‘Do you think you might be able to get together with the other people serving behind the bar that night and draw a plan of who was here – where they sat, what time they arrived, what time they left?'

The barmaid's eyes were round. ‘I think so.' She nodded. ‘Between us we might manage.'

‘Good.' Joanna felt pleased. So far so good. Then she turned to the barmaid again. ‘And don't forget to fill in even people who dropped in for one drink earlier and then left. They might have seen her sitting alone and come back later for her.'

She stopped. ‘How many people were serving behind the bar that night?'

‘Two of us girls,' the barmaid said, ‘and Pablo. He owns the place. He's Spanish.' The girl swallowed. ‘Can I ask,' she said timidly, ‘what time was she killed?'

‘Some time during the evening,' Joanna said, ‘before the snow came down.'

‘Can I ask something else?'

The barmaid was beginning to look frightened. ‘Do you think it might have been someone who drinks here regularly?'

Joanna met her eyes. ‘We don't know,' she said. ‘We just don't know.'

‘Mike,' she said when they were outside, ‘we'll have to get the boys to take statements from everyone drinking at the Quiet Woman on Tuesday night plus the three staff.' She paused. ‘I know at the moment we're assuming the man she left the pub with – the man she had a date with – was the killer. But it's a dangerous assumption. It's not necessarily true. She could have had a perfectly legitimate date, then been killed by someone else that night.'

Mike's eyes narrowed. ‘But her car was still there,' he said.

‘I know that,' she said, irritated. ‘I'm just saying. We must take this investigation one small step at a time.'

Mike grunted.

‘So let's start the ball rolling. Set up an incident room and let's get those statements ready to read through. If we can get a decent description of the man from someone at the Quiet Woman that night we have a head start. Maybe someone was outside the pub at the time when his car pulled up. Or it's possible someone was entering the pub at the same time he did.'

‘It was a very cold night,' Mike reminded her. ‘I don't suppose people were hanging around.'

‘No, but there's always a chance,' Joanna said. ‘We've had some nice surprises before. And some lucky breaks. So it's back to leg work and statements, Mike.'

‘Great,' he said. ‘My favourite hobby – getting statements from folk who keep their ears and eyes shut when there's a crime around.'

Joanna laughed. ‘Stop grumbling.'

‘Still.' He brightened up. ‘We've got DNA from the semen.'

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Are you suggesting we take semen samples from every bloke around Leek?' She met his eyes. ‘We don't have the powers to do that. We have to find a suspect. Then we can move. Don't be impatient,' she warned.

She started the engine and let out the clutch.

He was silent for the first half of the journey, then suddenly he said, ‘If I'm going to be helping the boys collect statements all afternoon what are you going to be up to?'

‘The morgue,' she said grimly. ‘I promised Christine I'd drive her down. Someone has to identify the body.'

He looked at her curiously. ‘How do you know her so well? I wouldn't have thought she moved in the same circles as you and that solicitor chap.'

‘God, Mike,' she spluttered. ‘Don't be such a snob. She's a very nice person.'

He ignored the comment.

‘She cleans the cottage for me,' she said. ‘And a bloody good job she makes of it too. She's also my friend.'

Mike nodded, and the action infuriated her even more.

‘Then I'll have to talk to the Coroner,' she continued, ‘and I thought I'd better see what the forensic psychologist has to offer.'

‘You still believe in all that psychology mumbo jumbo?'

‘Yes, I do.'

Mike shrugged his shoulders. ‘You're entitled to your own opinions, I suppose.'

‘Yes – I am.' She smiled. ‘However, I shall still rely on pure science and traditional police methods. I'll finish the day with my old friend H.O.L.M.E.S.'

He grinned. ‘Lucky you,' he said. ‘Never was much into computers myself. Anyway, this is a local crime, surely. Someone who dated a local girl and killed her.'

She took her eyes off the road to look at Mike's square face. ‘You saw the cable twisted round the broom handle. The way that girl was killed. Do you really think that expert job was the work of an amateur?'

‘Don't you?' He stared at her, appalled.

Slowly she shook her head. ‘No,' she said. ‘I don't. I have the most awful feeling he's done it before. Maybe just the rape with a touch of bondage. But I'm worried, and tonight I'm going to plug into the computer and look at other stranglings ... garrottings ... rapes ... complaints of violence associated with sex.'

‘Oh, shit.' Mike settled back in his seat, gnawing the tip of his thumb.

They drove back to the station in silence.

There was an envelope lying on her desk when she arrived at her office. It was addressed to her, written in neat capitals. Without any sort of premonition she slit the top with a knife and pulled out the note.

She read it twice before crumpling it up and dropping it into the bin.

It was now three forty-five. She had arranged to pick Christine up at four.

‘Who left the note?' she asked the Duty Sergeant on her way out.

But Jane had been cunning. No one had seen anything. The note had been found on the floor with Joanna's name on it.

Christine was silent for most of the journey to the mortuary and Joanna left her to her thoughts. She had dressed up for the occasion in a flowered pink suit and was shivering. Joanna leaned forward and switched the car heater full on.

It was only as they neared the hospital that Christine started to speak. ‘Joanna,' she said quietly, ‘I'm a bit worried about this. I've never seen a dead person before.' She swallowed. ‘Does she look much different?' She was pale, twisting her fingers around her wrists.

Joanna felt a rush of sympathy for her. ‘I never saw her alive,' she said softly. ‘But she looks OK. No blood. It won't take long. We just want you to take a quick glance at her face. We need to be absolutely sure it's her.'

Christine moved her hand in a quick, helpless gesture.

‘She didn't look a mess, did she — when you found her?' She stopped. ‘She cared, you know, how she looked.' Her lip trembled slightly. ‘I suppose some people might say she was a bit vain. Spent ages on her hair, I did, that night.' She looked at Joanna. ‘She was so sure he was going to be something really fantastic. George Michael, the Chippendales – all rolled into one. I did warn her. Sharon, I said. Don't expect too much.' She gave a dry laugh. ‘But that's what she got, wasn't it? Too much.'

Joanna said nothing. Such a vivid picture was emerging of this young woman she had only ever seen dead.

As the car drew up outside the mortuary Joanna spoke again. ‘Christine, we're going to want to know all the details of Sharon's life – even some you might have considered private or confidential – so that we can trace everyone who had a connection with her.'