Murder of a Dead Man (20 page)

He had visited Daisy the last time she’d lived in one of the flats. They were tiny. There was no way it would take anyone this length of time to answer the door. Turning his back he began to walk away.

‘Trevor.’ She opened the door, her head and body swathed in towels.

‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll come back later.’

‘I know how busy you are, please, come in.’

She disappeared inside leaving the door ajar and he followed. ‘Give me a couple of minutes to put something on and I’ll be with you. Help yourself to a drink.’

She went into the bedroom and he looked around. A cream lace tablecloth covered a table, which if the legs were anything to go by was ripe for a jumble sale. A two-seater sofa and chairs had been transformed by Indian cotton throws. A bunch of daffodils stood in a cut glass vase on a side table, and next to it a silver tray held four glasses, a soda siphon and bottles of brandy and whisky. Trevor reached for the brandy and poured himself a small one.

‘I’ll have one of those too, please.’ Daisy stood in the doorway. She was wearing a black and silver Kaftan but a towel was still wrapped round her head.

‘I called in the hospital. They said you’d left for the day but I wondered if you’d come up with anything.’

‘I put calls in to all the surgeons working on the teams giving the dates you suggested last night. Two have already responded as negative, but the ones in the States haven’t got back to me yet. It could be the conference.’

‘The one your boss is attending?’

‘Yes.’ She took the glass he handed her and curled up on the sofa. ‘But I did manage to get through to him last night, and he mentioned there was a doctor practising in London two years ago who had worked on the initial research programme.

It’s possible he was in a position to carry one out.

But if he did, it’s not documented.’

‘Does this doctor have a name?’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure I should tell you. Not without conclusive evidence that he’s involved, or at least until I can contact him to discuss it. It wouldn’t be ethical.’

‘Neither was the fire last night.’

‘You think it was set by the man with the face transplant?’

‘It could have been. The most I can say at the moment is that he’s top of the suspect list. Truth be known, he’s our only suspect.’

‘Trevor…’

‘Keep this to yourself but there’s a possibility that the man walking around with Anthony George’s face is an escaped prisoner who was convicted of murder.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘Anna picked up a suitcase from the factory squat yesterday. Both she and Peter saw the man who resembles Anthony George handling it, but the only fingerprints inside the case are on file as belonging to a villain who broke out of prison two years ago.’

‘Who’s Anna?’

‘You met her last night; she was having her hands sewn up.’

‘The brave lady who saved Peter.’

‘You look as though you disapprove.’

Daisy laughed. ‘I don’t wish Peter ill. After you were injured he was quite decent to me. In his way.’

‘I’ve never know Peter do anything other than in his way.’

She leaned against the back of the sofa and pulled the towel from her hair. Damp hair cascaded down her neck. The dry, astringent scent he remembered so well flooded into the atmosphere. It was very different from the light flowery perfume Lyn wore. ‘I don’t like the thought of a killer running loose on the streets.’

‘The key to tracking him down probably lies with the doctor who carried out the face transplant that transformed his appearance.’

‘Killer or not, it still wouldn’t be ethical for me to name a fellow doctor.’

‘No one need know it was you who told us.’

‘Can you give me until the morning?’

‘Time could be of the essence.’

‘I found out a year ago that time is always of the essence where the police are concerned. It means more to them than integrity, people or feelings.’

‘I’m trying to prevent a maniac from taking more innocent lives.’ Trevor finished the brandy and set the glass on the table next to the tray.

‘Would you like another?’

‘Yes, but I haven’t time.’

‘You’re on duty?’

‘All night, or until we find our man.’

‘I hope you do find him.’ She rose unsteadily to her feet. He reached out and touched her arm.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked in concern.

‘Perfectly, apart from drinking on an empty stomach.’

‘You haven’t eaten today?’

‘Not since last night. It’s been one of those days.’

‘You should take care of yourself,’ he said.

‘I’ve something ready to go in the microwave.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He pulled her towards him.

‘Trevor…’

He silenced the protest she’d been about to make by placing his mouth over hers. She stiffened, as though she were about to push him away, then suddenly she begun to kiss him back.

‘I’ve wondered what that would be like for a long time,’ he confessed when they drew away from one another.

‘And?’ her eyes glittered.

‘I’d like to take it a step further.’

‘You’re forgetting you’re spoken for.’

He remembered Lyn and work. ‘I’ll be back and we’ll talk about it then.’

‘Richard Marks.’

‘Who?’

‘The name of the surgeon capable of carrying out the operation who was in London two years ago is Richard Marks.’

Marks… Marks – he tried to think where he had heard the name, but he was incapable of thinking about anything except Daisy.

‘If you give me until tomorrow I’ll see if I can find out anything more about him.’

‘No one will be doing anything before tomorrow.’ He went to the door.

‘This is marvellous, I never thought you’d be home this early. I’ve prepared dinner. It will only take half an hour to cook.’ Lyn stood in the hall and watched Trevor take off his jacket.

‘I’m sorry. I have to go out again as soon as I’ve changed.’

‘With her?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Bill’s posted every available man on the force on the streets tonight to look for…’

‘Don’t lie, Trevor. Please don’t lie,’ she whispered. ‘You stink of her perfume. I could smell it yesterday in the restaurant. Her lipstick is all over your mouth…’

Trevor glanced in the mirror. There was no lipstick. Then he remembered there wouldn’t have been. Daisy had just come out of the bath. But that one glance was enough to damn him.

‘Thought you hadn’t wiped it all off?’ she taunted.

‘I have to go,’ he said brusquely.

‘And so do I. Right now.’

‘Lyn, please.’ He raced up the stairs after her but she locked herself into the bathroom. He looked at the clock. There was no time to reason with her.

Not if he wanted to make Bill’s briefing. He opened his wardrobe door and pulled out his oldest pair of jeans. Dressing down was a problem for him. After he’d been discharged from hospital he’d thrown out most of his old clothes. Eventually he found a shirt with a tear in it, and an old pair of trainers. A coat was going to be a problem. He’d just have to freeze.

He looked around; he really didn’t have any more excuse to linger. Just Lyn.

He hammered on the bathroom door with his closed fist.

‘Lyn, please. I have to go out. If you’d open the door you could see what I’m dressed like. It’s work, I swear it.’

Not a sound came from the room. He debated whether or not to put his shoulder to the door and decided against it. It would have to wait until morning. Slamming the door behind him he walked down the stairs and out of the house.

Even if Lyn had opened the door, he wouldn’t have known what to say to her. She’d been right all along. He was totally besotted with Daisy, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to see anything beyond her, or think of anything except the castles he was building in the air dreaming of his future –with her.

‘We’re not going to find Tony hanging around the hostels,’ Trevor commented when he and Chris met up with the Dan and Andrew as they parked their respective cars outside the port offices.

‘It’s worth checking with the inmates to see if any of them have seen him since yesterday. With the fire closing what was probably the largest squat in town; the homeless will be looking for another place. If we find it before our man, we may catch him trying to move in.’

‘I’ve a feeling he won’t be running with the pack.’ Andrew stamped his feet in an effort to warm himself. The advent of spring was evident in the buds on the trees, and the bulbs pushing up in the flowerbeds in the roundabout at the entrance to the docks. But the night air still bore the dead, chill hallmark of winter.

‘Andrew and I will take the hostels.’ Dan glanced at his watch. ‘The doors will be closing on them about now. The super has a squad checking the underpasses and the multi-storey car parks. Think of anywhere else, lad?’

‘Me, sir?’ Chris asked, amazed at being consulted by a superior officer.

‘You were on the beat last week. Sergeant Joseph and I haven’t been out there in years.’

‘It’s like you said, sir, the car parks, the underpasses. Some of them used to go in the old pub down the bottom end of High Street.’

‘The Drunken Sailor?’ Trevor asked.

‘That’s the one.’

‘The owner’s boarded it up, pending a redevelopment application.’ Andrew’s foot stamping became more energetic.

‘The old factory was boarded up,’ Dan reached into his pocket for his peppermints. ‘On that basis every abandoned and boarded building in town is worth checking. Trevor, you and Chris take everything west of High Street. We’ll take the east side after we’ve checked the hostels. Contact with H.Q. every ten minutes giving position, progress and names of any officers you’ve met and compared notes with.’

Trevor went back to his car and picked up his anorak. To hell with freezing. He glanced at Chris as he zipped it against the biting wind. The boy looked more like a scared teenager than an officer of the law in his jeans and leather jacket. He gave him an encouraging nod as they walked down the deserted quayside that marked the beginning of the marina.

Chris looked at the berthed yachts.

‘There’s dozens of hiding places there, sir,’ he shouted above the ringing of the masts.

‘Owners pay marina security to check their vessels every day. And a place like that would be too open for our man. He’d be seen the minute he made a move to get food or water. Whatever else he is, he’s not stupid. He knows we’re looking for him.’

The pubs and wine bars on the marina were crowded. A couple of women swung the door wide as they came out of one of the more popular establishments, and Trevor caught a glimpse of men standing at the bar drinking pints and watching the news on a TV. Too early for the night revellers, they were probably office workers who’d stopped for a pint on their way home. He turned his collar up against the cold which was peppered with water stings carried on the inshore breeze and tried not to think about Lyn and the way they’d parted.

Tomorrow, somehow or other he’d make time to sit down and talk to her. Settle the problems between them once and for all.

‘We’re not likely to find him here are we, sir?’

Chris enquired hesitantly.

Trevor looked around. Lost in thoughts of the argument he’d had with Lyn, he’d headed blindly for the golden waterfront mile of the marina where property prices were highest. The most expensive and exclusive nightclubs, pubs and restaurants were just ahead, and although one or two of the more public spirited proprietors had two bins in their back yards, one for rubbish and one for edible scraps for the vagrants, the homeless were not encouraged to linger.

‘It’s worth checking the back of these buildings,’ he replied in a face-saving exercise.

‘That will take us to the edge of town, then we’ll systematically comb the side streets that lead into High Street.’ He turned the corner and entered an alley that ran parallel to the waterfront. He didn’t need the torch he carried. All the pubs and restaurants had security lights that flashed on before they reached striking distance of the back yards.

‘So, this is what it feels like to be in the spotlight,’ Trevor said as they walked past the back of the sixth restaurant. The chef looked out of his kitchen window as they passed before continuing to chop vegetables on a board slung over a sink. A light flashed on up ahead, too far for either of them to have set it off. Startled, both Brooke and Trevor stepped into the shadows only to see a cat scurrying towards them.

‘No vagrant with any sense in his head would come here before morning.’ Trevor walked on. ‘And then only for a quick scavenge.’

‘I’ve seen them, sir. They generally come around six or seven, pick up one or two of the parcels the cooks leave for them, then scarper.’

‘You’ve walked this beat?’

‘Walked most of them in the town, sir.’

‘You ever seen the man we’re after?’

‘Not that I remember, sir.’

‘That’s the problem with this job. You only have time to register the villains.’

At the end of the alley they stopped and looked towards the network of narrow terraces that fringed the oldest quarter of the town.

‘If you were homeless and your squat burned down, Chris, where would you head?’

‘Probably for one of the farms on the outskirts, sir.’

‘You’d soon be noticed and sent packing.’

‘There are one or two derelict places, sir. I’ve been looking at them with a view to doing one up.’

‘Fancy yourself as a farmer?’

‘Only in retirement.’

‘Good God, how old are you, nineteen, twenty?

And you’re making plans for retirement?’

Retirement was something Trevor only thought of in passing and never in depth. Probably because he didn’t have a clue as to what he’d do with his time if he didn’t have to go into the station.

‘You can cycle for miles outside town and not see a soul.’

‘Then you’d better get a list of all the uninhabited places tomorrow from the estate agents so we can search them.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Chris’s voice had lost some of its enthusiasm.

‘Didn’t they tell you that ninety percent of detective work is boring, repetitive leg work? There are times when I look back on my time on the beat with nostalgia. Then, no two days were ever the same.’