Fell Purpose (29 page)

‘Hmm?’ Slider looked up vaguely. ‘So, go.’

‘But you’ve got my woman. I can’t have her back until you go home and release her.’

‘Point,’ said Slider.

‘I thought that if we went together, I could pick her up and drive her home. She was going to get a taxi, but . . .’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘And then I thought, how about picking up some fish and chips on the way? I’m certainly starving and you must be too.’

‘Fish and chips,’ Slider said. He imagined the smell – the crisp batter, the fragrant chips, the delicate hint of vinegar – and his stomach groaned audibly. ‘What a good idea.’

‘It was one of mine,’ Atherton said modestly. ‘Of course it’s good.’

Slider stretched crackingly. ‘I can do the rest of this tomorrow.’ He put his pen down, stood up, reached for his jacket, and the phone rang.

‘Leave it,’ Atherton urged. ‘You’re not here. If you’d been fifteen seconds nimbler on your feet you’d have been halfway down the corridor by now.’

‘It might be important,’ Slider said.

‘A ringing phone is like an unopened letter,’ Atherton said. ‘Leave it long enough and it doesn’t need answering.’

But Slider had already picked it up.

‘Bill! How’s life?’ It was Freddie.

‘You should ask someone who has one.’

‘I didn’t think you’d still be there.’

‘Then why did you
phone
me?’

‘Don’t be so literal. I’ve done your post.’

‘Oh,’ said Slider, and sat down. ‘It’s Freddie Cameron. He’s done the post,’ he said to Atherton.

‘Can’t it wait?’ Atherton complained from the depth of his day-long hunger.

‘Who’s that, Atherton?’ Freddie heard him. ‘I’d have thought he’d be down at the gym or something by now.’

‘Why the gym?’

‘Exercise. Healthy mind in a healthy body. I assume he’d pick one he has a chance at.’

‘Listen, insult him on your own time. I want to go home,’ Slider said. ‘Any surprises in the post?’

‘Not insofar as the murder’s concerned,’ Freddie said. ‘The cause of death was the strangulation all right, as I said at the time.’

‘I knew you’d be right. I have complete faith in you.’

Cameron expanded on the warm zephyr of regard. ‘Raised venous pressure, if you want a precise cause of death. Most lay people think the cause of death in strangulation is hypoxia, but in fact in a case like this—’

‘Freddie, it’s me.’

‘Oh, sorry. My long way round of telling you considerable force was used. The hyoid and cricoid were both fractured. Obstruction of the carotid arteries was severe enough to cause cerebral ischaemia, and there was bleeding into the neck muscles.’

‘And the ligature was, in fact, the ligature?’ Slider asked.

‘Yes, no doubt about that. It woz the tights wot done it. And there are no signs of any other injury, or of poisons, drugs or excess alcohol. You’re looking for a strangler all right.’ It was important to say this, because there had been a case not so long ago where the strangling had been faked to conceal a death by poison.

‘Right,’ said Slider. ‘Well, thank you. It’s as well to have that cleared up. You sent the tights off for testing?’

‘Yes, of course, and all her clothing, but don’t get your hopes up.’

‘My hopes don’t know which way up is. Any defensive injuries?’

‘I’m afraid not, and nothing under the fingernails. I think she must have grabbed at the ligature instead of trying to fight him off. Big mistake, of course,’ he added sadly. ‘I imagine the attacker was so much bigger and stronger than her that she was overwhelmed very quickly, and had little chance to resist.’

That rather ruled out Carmichael, then, Slider thought. He was neither tall nor heavy. Though he did have strong biker’s hands. Ronnie Oates was not tall or muscular, either, though he might have the proverbial strength of the madman. But Wilding was a big man in every dimension. Damn. He really didn’t want it to be Wilding. ‘Anything else?’

‘Just one thing – the reason I thought I ought to ring you tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow, in case the consideration changed anything.’

‘I
was
wondering.’

‘She was pregnant.’

‘Come again?’

‘You heard me.’

Slider stared at nothing. Oh, this was a whole new can of worms, kettle of fish, any receptacle you liked of any multiple zoological specimens you cared to name. ‘How long?’ he asked at last.

‘About eight weeks,’ Cameron said. ‘I’m sorry, Bill.’ He knew his friend would mind. It always made things worse when the victim was pregnant – two lives taken at one blow.

‘It’s all right,’ Slider said automatically. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’

‘I sent a sample of foetal tissue off right away to the DNA lab for typing. Of course, it’s up to you whether you want to pay for the express service. I just sent it with the standard forms. I don’t know what stage your investigation is at . . .’

‘More suspects than you can shake a stick at,’ Slider said rather absently.

‘That bad, eh? But this might filter them out somewhat, perhaps?’ Slider didn’t answer, and he went on, ‘Well, I’ll love you and leave you. I’m off home to the memsahib. We ought to get together some time, you know. Have dinner, or what-not. When the rush is over.’

Slider pulled himself together. ‘If we wait that long we’ll both be dead. Let’s make it sooner rather than later.’

‘Right-o. Be in touch.’

And he was gone. Slider replaced the receiver and looked up at Atherton, who was straining at the leash with curiosity.

‘She was pregnant. Eight weeks pregnant.’

Atherton sighed with what appeared to be immense satisfaction. Strange how his reactions were so different, Slider thought; but then he had never had any children – or not that he knew about, as he always said when asked.

‘
Now
we’ve got a game,’ Atherton said. ‘That’s a whole new tin of sardines. DNA will out. You always said the problem with Carmichael was the lack of a motive. Now you’ve got one, hot and strong.’

‘But she’s only two months pregnant, and he hadn’t seen her for three months.’

‘That’s only what
he
says. What better reason could he have for lying about it? This is just what we needed – the grit in the oyster, round which the theory forms.’

Slider looked unhappy. ‘My life is all grit. I should like to have a bit of oyster round it. It occurs to me that this feeds in to your alternative theory just as well – that Wilding did it. If he knew about it.’

‘Suits me,’ said Atherton cheerfully. ‘Either one.’

‘Except, would he really kill his own grandchild, if he knew about it?’

‘Then perhaps he
didn’t
know. Look, enough thinking for now. I’m hungry. You’re hungry. The brain needs feeding. Out there somewhere there’s a piece of rock salmon with your name on it, and the gnomes down at the chip face are this moment hewing out potato delicacies and hand-carving them to your exacting requirements.’

Slider stood up again with a tired smile. ‘Enough. I get the picture. No more thought.’

Atherton handed him his jacket. ‘Keep that promise, and there’s a pickled egg in it for you.’ They walked out into the corridor. ‘Reminds me of the old saying,’ he went on. ‘You know the one: give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day.
Teach
a man to fish, and he’ll sit in a boat and drink beer all day.’

‘You are certifiably nuts,’ Slider said, but he laughed, which was what Atherton had been aiming for.

FIFTEEN

Whores de Combat

T
he fish and chips definitely came under the category of Things That Sounded Like A Good Idea At The Time. The Chizzick Chippy – as they had taken to spelling themselves lately for inscrutable Lebanese reasons – did a rock and chips to die for, and during the short hours of the night Slider thought he was going to.

As Atherton had bought Emily a poke of chips to keep them company, it was natural for Slider to offer a drink to go with, and he happened to have some bottles of Marston’s Pedigree in the kitchen cupboard. By the time Joanna got back they had settled in for conversation. She wasn’t sleepy yet and wanted a beer too, and chip envy drove her to propose making herself a toasted cheese sandwich. Naturally Atherton, who cooked even better than he made love (according to his CV) jumped up chivalrously and offered to do the making. Pretty soon it was toasted cheese all round, which on top of the fish and chips was like signing a pact never to sleep again this side of the Apocalypse (which took place later in Slider’s large intestine).

They talked about the case of course, and the sad and interesting news that Zellah had been pregnant.

‘Maybe that’s why she suddenly wanted to see this Carmichael bloke,’ Emily said. ‘To persuade him to help her. Pay for an abortion, if nothing else.’ She looked round at them. ‘She must have been terrified, poor thing. Think of having to face a father like that, or having him find out! And from what you’ve said she wouldn’t have any money, or access to any. I don’t know whether she knew Carmichael was a drug dealer—’

‘I don’t know either,’ Slider said. ‘But it would have been apparent that he had a reasonable amount of money, anyway. His own flat, a very expensive motorbike . . .’

‘And she must have thought at least that he was cool and streetwise, the sort of person who would know how to arrange it.’

‘That’s a very good point,’ Joanna said. ‘Who else could she turn to?’

‘But she hadn’t rung Carmichael on her mobile since the beginning of June, and assuming for the moment that means she wasn’t seeing him, why would she think he’d believe it was his baby?’ Slider said. ‘And if it wasn’t, why would he help her?’

‘Well,’ said Joanna, ‘as to point one, how would she know how far along she was if she hadn’t seen a doctor? OK, she must have missed periods to suspect she was pregnant, and maybe she bought one of those kits at a chemist and tested herself, but she might not have been savvy enough to work it back to an exact date. She might have thought it
was
him, or at least thought it was possible. As to point two . . . I’ve forgotten what point two was.’

‘Why would he help her?’ Atherton supplied.

‘Oh. Well, as I said before, who else
could
she ask? If you’re desperate, you don’t worry too much about motivation. You just yell “help!”’

‘Carmichael’s the one I’d go to,’ Emily said. ‘In her situation,’ she added, intercepting Atherton’s look. ‘What did he say about it?’

‘Carmichael? About the pregnancy? We haven’t spoken to him about it yet,’ Slider said. ‘
He
didn’t mention it to
us
, which is odd, because it would make a much better reason for them to have had a big row, especially as he’s claiming he hadn’t been out with her since May, which would mean it wasn’t his.’

‘Maybe he chose May as the cut-off point for that very reason,’ Joanna said.

‘Maybe,’ Slider agreed. ‘But as a story it still makes more sense than this stuff about her meeting someone else, making a second date after the one with him.’

‘That,’ Joanna said, finishing the last crusty corner of her sandwich with obvious relish, ‘is so lame it might just be true.’

‘Anyway,’ Atherton said, ‘once we’ve got the DNA typed we can prove it was his baby, and then we’ve got him.’

‘Have you?’ Emily said.

They exchanged a long look; the sort that passes between people who have talked together so much they know each other’s thought processes.

‘I take your point,’ Atherton said. ‘We don’t all kill our firstborn. Even if it was Carmichael’s baby, it doesn’t mean Wilding didn’t find out and decide in a Biblical rage that Zellah had to die.’

‘Poor old Bible,’ Emily said. ‘It does get a bad press. Did she keep a diary?’

‘Not that we’ve found,’ Slider said. ‘But I suppose her father might have destroyed it.’

‘It’s just that it’s usual to mark in your diary when your period’s due . . .’

‘Don’t add more complications, please.’

‘I’m sorry to have to say it,’ Joanna said, ‘but in a small house like that, he may have been aware anyway that she hadn’t had a period for a couple of months. A period’s not an easy thing to keep secret when you share a bathroom.’

‘Yucky, but true,’ Atherton consented. ‘Well, we’ve got to find him first. And then of course there’s still Ronnie Oates, the Acton Strangler.’

‘I thought you’d ruled him out,’ Emily said.

‘Not at all. You can never be sure that someone irrational didn’t do something irrational, especially when his account of what he
was
doing is irrational,’ Atherton said. ‘And when you know he was on the spot. And has a predilection for seeing ladies wearing their tights round their necks. But then, who doesn’t? On which note,’ he stood up, ‘I think I’d better take you home.’