Stalked By Shadows (28 page)

‘But what about Nina Silvero?’ Millie wondered.

‘Maybe she was the person he really vented his frustration on,’ Mariner speculated. ‘Tomorrow we could use some kind of break.’

Mariner opened his front door that evening to be greeted by the smell of Kat’s home-made beef goulash from the pot that was simmering on the cooker. Hearing him come in, Kat herself appeared on the stairs, in one arm a bottle carrier, which she passed to him. Six different varieties of ale. ‘We can watch this too?’ She held up a copy of
The Big Easy
, one of Mariner’s all-time favourite films, and one that he knew she didn’t really like, because of the violence.

‘That would be good,’ he said, gratefully accepting the olive branch.

‘We are friends again?’ She smiled tentatively.

‘Friends again,’ Mariner agreed.

It was almost like the old times, but there was a conversation they needed to have.

‘So, tell me about this flat,’ Mariner said, when the film had finished and he was mellowed by the food and beer.

‘My friend Saira at the language centre, she haves one,’ Kat said. ‘Is in Moseley near to the cricket pitch.’

‘I think you mean the cricket
ground
,’ said Mariner.

‘Yes, and it haves one bedroom and a lounge and a kitchen and all the furnitures.’ Her enthusiasm grew as she spoke.

‘And you can afford this?’ Mariner asked. But he already knew the answer to that. Albanian translators were in demand in a city as culturally diverse as Birmingham, and Kat was paid handsomely for her services, which he knew because she occasionally worked for them at Granville Lane. And she had thought it through.

‘Saira, she have not such much money as me, and she can do this. She help me. Wait.’ She disappeared up to her room and returned moments later with a glossy folder containing property details and notebook, in which she’d worked out all the sums. The flat would be rented but well within her means and, after all, she pointed out, she may not be in this country for ever.

‘It looks great,’ Mariner said, saddened by that thought. ‘Do you want me to help you to apply for it? You’ll need to get hold of an application -’

Sheepishly, Kat sorted through the pack to produce application forms already completed in her neat hand. ‘Is all done,’ she said. ‘Will you referee for me?’

Despite himself, Mariner smiled. ‘Yes, I’ll referee for you.’

At Mariner’s request, DCI Sharp joined them for the briefing session first thing on Thursday morning. If they were to bring Bonnington in, Mariner wanted her to hear what the grounds for it were.

Knowing what they were up against, Max had worked overnight on Bonnington’s computer and he joined them as well. ‘Bonnington’s taste in porn is a tad disappointing,’ he told them, ‘very tame. And there are a few legitimate emails sent to Lucy Jarrett months ago, but I can confirm that most of the spam emails and the catalogue requests were triggered by his machine. He’s also accessed Lucy Jarrett’s wedding photos on several occasions. ‘And I found this.’ He passed round a sheet that bore a printed label:
flowers from Guernsey.
‘He must have mocked it up himself and stuck it to the boxes to make them look legit. Stupid git saved the document to his hard drive.’

‘Isn’t that odd?’ queried Sharp. ‘He’s a computer expert himself, yet he’s made no attempt to hide any of this?’

Max shook his head. ‘He must have thought he was safe. He hasn’t made any attempt to conceal any of this, and there are plenty of steps he could have taken. Ultimately we’d have found it of course, so it wouldn’t make any difference, but it means that I could just lift all this off straight away.’

‘He panicked when we said we were taking the machine,’ Mariner told her. ‘He even asked if he could download some “work material” before we took it away. Maybe he just got lazy and didn’t bother at the time.’

Sharp nodded, seemingly satisfied with that explanation.

‘Can we pinpoint the times when the emails were sent?’ she asked.

Max responded by producing a data printout. ‘This is a breakdown of dates and times. Bonnington’s a “night prowler”. Most of the stuff is done in the late evening, a couple of times in the early hours. His mobile is clean, by the way, no calls to Lucy Jarrett’s number. Most of the numbers coincide with the numbers for client accounts on the computer, but he could have another one he’s not telling you about.’

‘Is Nina Silvero on his client list?’ Mariner took the printout that Sharp handed him.

‘’Fraid not,’ said Max. ‘Only similarity with her is that they’ve both used Internet dating sites, but they’re not even the same ones.’

‘So what now?’ Sharp asked Mariner.

‘I’d like to bring him in,’ Mariner said. ‘Voluntarily, if he’ll come. I want to get him on to our territory, where I think he’ll be less sure of himself. There’s enough to question him about Lucy Jarrett, and maybe in the course of the interview the link with Nina Silvero will become clear.’

Sharp nodded agreement. ‘Best of luck, and keep me posted.’

Mariner took Millie with him to collect Bonnington. She’d done a lot of work with Lucy Jarrett and deserved to take the credit.

Bonnington continued to maintain his innocence. ‘There must be some misunderstanding,’ he kept saying. But he put up no resistance, and didn’t feel the need to have a solicitor present. Entering the interview suite, Mariner felt the familiar nervous anticipation that came with the end game. The most satisfactory outcome, as always, would be a confession from Bonnington, preferably with a clear explanation of his motives. It was seldom what they got, of course, and Bonnington was continuing to play the ‘confused’ card, which could be genuine, or preferably meant that he had simply convinced himself that he had done nothing wrong. Either way, he was pretty calm, confident that the misunderstanding would be rectified. He looked smaller than ever in the interview room, Mariner and Millie on the opposite side of the table.

‘I really don’t understand why I’m here,’ he said, for the umpteenth time. ‘A fingerprint on a wine bottle? I mean, that could be anyone’s.’

‘Tell us about Claudette Vernon,’ Mariner said.

‘Ah.’ Bonnington looked directly into Mariner’s eyes. ‘You obviously know all about her. That’s the other reason I’m here, is it? That I happened to be a little over-enthusiastic in my advances towards Claudette, let me see, three years ago? Hm, I can see how that might make me an automatic suspect for harassing a married neighbour whom I hardly know, and murdering a middle-aged woman I’ve never heard of.’

Mariner ignored the sarcasm. ‘Were you harassing Ms Vernon? Is that how you’d describe it?’

‘That was your word,’ Bonnington corrected him. ‘You told me yesterday that Lucy Jarrett was being harassed.’

‘So why don’t you tell us about your relationship with Claudette Vernon?’

‘You really do have an unusual preoccupation with my sex life, Inspector, which I probably could understand if it was a particularly salacious one, but I think we all know that you’re in for a disappointment.’

‘Just get on with it, Mr Bonnington.’ Mariner tried to quash his rising exasperation.

‘All right.’ Bonnington shrugged. ‘I met Claudette through an Internet dating site. She turned out to be a very attractive woman and, quite amazingly, she seemed to feel the same way about me, at least to begin with. No signals misread there, I can assure you.’ He looked from Mariner to Millie. ‘We went out for two or three months, usually to a film or to the theatre, or for dinner. After the first couple of dates we started fucking, and I think we fucked on most occasions subsequent to that.’ Spoken in such a polite conversational tone, the words sounded obscene and Mariner felt sure that Bonnington’s intention had been to try to shock them. He’d have to try a lot harder than that.

‘And how was it, the fucking?’ asked Mariner.

‘Not up to much to begin with, if I’m brutally honest, but Claudette was prepared to give it a chance, and it got better, for both of us.’

Mariner had to admire his honesty. ‘You must have missed it then, when she ended your relationship.’

‘I did. And not just the sex, but the conversation, the evenings out. She’s a lovely woman. I think I’d fallen for her.’

Mariner searched Bonnington’s face for signs of irony, but for once they were absent.

‘So you stalked her.’

‘I wasn’t stalking her,’ Bonnington said impatiently. ‘I admit that I found it difficult to accept our relationship was over. I couldn’t understand how her feelings could be so intense one day and non-existent just a few days later. I had to be sure that she really thought it was over, and that there wasn’t something I could do to rekindle the interest.

I can see now that at the time my behaviour must have seemed odd, and that I might have frightened her.’

‘Did it give you a buzz, frightening her?’ Mariner asked. ‘Is that what you get off on?’

‘No.’ Bonnington seemed offended by the question.

‘Did you find it difficult when Lucy Jarrett finished with you too?’

‘Finished what? I’ve already told you; with Lucy there wasn’t anything to finish.’

‘Must have been tough, though; two women dumping you within such a short space of time,’ Mariner said. ‘And both because of your inadequacies in bed. That’s pretty humiliating, isn’t it? Did you wonder what they might be saying to their new partners:
Poor old Martin, nice guy but can’t really cut it
? Did you think Lucy and Will were laughing about you behind your back?’

‘The thought never crossed my mind.’

‘So, why have you been sending her hundreds of emails, and ordering dozens of products on her behalf?’ Mariner put the data sheet down on the table in front of him.

Bonnington took his time, studying the list for a couple of minutes, before looking up again, directly into Mariner’s eyes. ‘I didn’t make those requests,’ he said.

‘Can you explain, then, how we’ve traced them back to your home computer?’ asked Mariner.

‘No, I really can’t, because I didn’t send them.’ He appeared completely ingenuous.

‘That’s not good enough, Mr Bonnington,’ Mariner told him. ‘We have the technological proof that they were sent from your computer, and what’s more we can tell exactly when you sent them.’ Mariner cast his eyes down the list. ‘For example, what were you doing on March the ninth at eleven fifteen pm, when the appointment was made with this nursery-design company?’

‘I would have been at home, I expect, but I didn’t do it.’

‘For the record: you live alone, Mr Bonnington?’

‘You know I do.’

‘And no one else has access to your computer.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So you must see how, logically, if this request was made on your computer at that time, it must have been made by you,’ Mariner said patiently.

‘I can see that, but it wasn’t,’ Bonnington reiterated. ‘I’ve never even heard of this company.’

‘So how else can you explain what we’ve found?’

‘Maybe I’ve got a hacker,’ said Bonnington.

‘Our technician told us that your machine is one of the most secure he’s ever come across,’ Mariner replied. ‘You’re an IT consultant. You trying to tell us you’d be that careless? ’ He glanced down at the list again. ‘A lot of these have been sent on a Wednesday evening. What’s so special about Wednesdays, Mr Bonnington?’

‘My house is clean,’ Bonnington offered, helpfully.

Mariner ignored the cryptic remark, not sure if Bonnington was being facetitious. ‘What were you doing on Tuesday evening at eleven forty pm?’

‘I was at home.’

‘More specifically, you were on the phone to our emergency team.’ Mariner took another sheet of paper from the folder in front of him. ‘
I saw him attack her
,’ he read. ‘
She fell on the floor, and now he’s gone out and she’s not answering her phone
.’

‘I’ve already admitted to making that call,’ Bonnington said, the first signs of frustration beginning to show. ‘I was looking through my telescope at the Great Bear. I saw my neighbours having an argument, which looked violent, so I phoned the police. I was genuinely concerned for Lucy Jarrett’s safety. I was being a good citizen.’

‘Hm, your telescope,’ Mariner said. ‘Do you use that to spy on other neighbours, or is it solely for Lucy Jarrett?’

‘I’ve told you I have an interest in astronomy.’

‘But you just happened to have it directed at the Jarretts’ house that evening,’ Mariner said. ‘Is that how you can be sure when Lucy’s husband is out? So that you can make your other phone calls?’

‘What other calls?’ Bonnington frowned.

‘The silent calls made to Lucy Jarrett when her husband is out. The ones in which you don’t speak, oh, except the first time.
You bitch, I’m going to make you suffer
. Wasn’t that how it went? What have you done with the phone?’

‘What phone?’

‘The mobile that you made those calls from.’

Bonnington glanced across at Millie. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Did you go to Lucy Jarrett’s wedding?’ Mariner asked, changing tack.

‘I wasn’t invited,’ Bonnington stated baldly.

‘Were you disappointed about that?’

‘I didn’t expect to be invited. Particularly after what happened between me and Lucy. Anyway, I hardly know them, I just happen to live nearby.’

‘But you’ve seen the wedding photos?’

‘I’ve looked at them online, yes.’ Bonnington blushed.

At last, something. Mariner almost sighed with relief, and he and Millie exchanged a brief look.

Bonnington looked from one to the other. ‘I don’t see what the problem is with that. I gave the happy couple a gift, just to be neighbourly, and when Lucy thanked me she told me about the web link. I assumed her intention was that I could look at the photos. They were very good. Very professional. Lucy looked very pretty.’

‘How did they make you feel?’ Mariner asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did they make you feel angry that it wasn’t you in those photos; that Will Jarrett was standing where you should have been?’