Still Waters (18 page)

Before her eyes was a selection of shots of the suicide victim, all with a ruler to show the measurements. Where on earth had she got the idea that Alec Minton was a poor, weak old pensioner? He was over six feet tall and strapping with it. He might have been a member of the bowls club, but she’d wager her pension that he weight-trained too, and probably went on regular runs. You certainly didn’t get a torso and a set of quads like that without a great deal of purposeful effort.

‘Not what you wanted, Fran?’

‘Not what I expected, certainly!’ She chose one showing the least obvious injuries, which in any case she covered over with her thumb. ‘What do you make of this guy?’

‘Quite a hunk. But a dead hunk, I’d guess?’

‘Like that parrot. And once it could talk, too. And I wish it had spoken before it topped itself.’

She phoned Pete Webb immediately. ‘I thought Alec Minton was a little old pensioner given to playing bowls!’

‘He was.’

‘I should guess he played very well, then. On the days when he didn’t work out in the gym.’

‘The gym? You’re joking!’

‘You have another look at those photos, Pete, and tell me what you think. They may not be the pecs of a young man like you, but pecs they are. He’s got quads, too. I want to know about that gym, Pete, and anything else you can unearth. And – just as a sweetener – I’ll authorise you the funds to prioritise the investigation of his computer. Bring it off the back burner, please, and raise the heat a little.’

‘You sound like a woman who’s scented blood, guv.’

‘Do I? I don’t think I mean to. Or maybe I do. Tell you what, Pete, I know you’re up to your ears in things that won’t wait, but I want you to depute someone really reliable to check the contents of that parish magazine of his again. As a matter of urgency, right?’

‘Right, guv.’

‘Oh, and Pete – are you still there?’

‘Yes, guv.’

She almost laughed at the misery and resignation in his voice. ‘I want a photo or an e-fit of how he may have looked in real life. Absolute priority.’

‘I had to leave a message,’ Mark confessed over lunch. ‘Do you know, Sammie’s actually re-recorded my answerphone greeting?’ That had really annoyed and hurt him more than he would admit, even to Fran. Not that he knew why. It made eminent sense in one way. But some part of him insisted that she should have asked him – even told him, knowing Sammie – that that was her intention.

She said nothing, but reached for his hand and squeezed it. ‘Did you say why you needed to speak to her?’

‘I thought it might come as a bit of a shock. So I just said it
was important and would she get back to me immediately. Do you remember those communication exercises we had to do as rookies? How to you break the news of someone’s death? “Leave a message on the widow’s desk?”’

‘Or “all those with a husband stand up? No, not you, Mrs Briggs. In any case, you ought to sit down ’cos I’ve got bad news for you.”’

Through their laughter, he confessed, ‘I rather thought mine might match those. “I thought you ought to know Fran and I are moving back this weekend. You can stay if you want.” No, it’ll have to be face to face, won’t it?’

‘Do you think it might be worth phoning Lloyd to find out how his overtures were received?’ she asked with that tentativeness she only used when she spoke of his family. ‘I know it wasn’t our business before but now it just might be.’

‘Good idea. I’ll get on to it after this afternoon’s meeting. “How long do we want to detain terrorist suspects before they have to be charged?”’

‘Why do I get the feeling that whatever you say and for whatever reasons the politicians have their own agenda and will decide accordingly?’

‘I think you’re telling me I’m wasting my time.’

‘Who’s to say we all aren’t? But at least I’m going to be able to talk to Maurice Barnes tomorrow.’ She gave a complicitous smile. This was one thing she never asked about, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to divulge, even to Fran.

If anything, Lewes was an even more depressing prison than Maidstone. Fran let Sue Hall drive this time, all too aware that the young woman still hadn’t forgiven her for her lapses in sisterhood. As if she and her contemporaries hadn’t invented the whole thing, investing time and effort and even marches to secure the opportunities women like Sue now enjoyed as of legal right. She wanted to tell Sue not to be years out of date, not to waste her energies over battles long since won. But she couldn’t, because Sue was right. There were all too many areas where the police was still a man’s world, and there were women – like Fran herself – who had to connive with the prevailing culture to get results.

‘Why don’t you take the lead on this one?’ Fran asked.

‘Because you don’t think it’s so important?’

Stupid child. ‘Because you don’t think it’s so important,
ma’am
!’

‘Sorry, ma’am.’

‘Sorry,
guv
. OK, let’s forget it. But don’t go down that road with me again, Sue. I want you to lead on this interview
because I’ve seen you in action and I know you’re shrewd and intelligent. I don’t think you’ll let me down.’ She added frankly, ‘And you’ve got me there if you need rescuing.’

Sue had the grace to blush. ‘Thanks, ma’am. Thanks,
guv
.’

As Ken Roper had said, Maurice Barnes was an altogether bigger man, perhaps five inches taller and at least three stone heavier. While he had clearly benefited from time in the prison gym, however, he wasn’t as muscle-bound as Drury, nor did he have anything like the physical presence.

‘You’re a scientist by training, Mr Barnes,’ Sue began, startling certainly Fran and possibly Barnes.

‘That’s right. A biochemist. I got my degree at Sheffield.’

‘How do you keep your brain ticking over now?’

He pulled a face. ‘I
was
trying to do an OU course. But every time I’m moved, things like my books and coursework disappear and no one notifies the OU tutors and so I doubt if I’ll ever finish it. Up in Durham, while I was waiting for my books to catch up with me, I was trying to fathom sudoku and to teach some of the inmates to read and write.’

Sue nodded as if it were leading somewhere. ‘And the rest of the time?’

‘I read. I use the gym. I do press-ups.’

‘Not a very fulfilling life.’

‘No. Oh, and of course, I’m helping you with your inquiries. Into what, might I ask?’

‘Into the murder of a friend of yours. Janine Roper.’

His face lit up. ‘You’ve realised poor Ken’s innocent! Excellent.’

So why didn’t he include himself? But Sue didn’t pick up on the point.

‘I didn’t say that, Mr Barnes. But new evidence has emerged.’

Secretly, ironically, Fran applauded the verb.

‘Now we want to discuss it with you,’ Sue continued.

‘And what might that evidence be?’

‘Janine’s body,’ was the brutal response.

His hands flat on the table between them, he bowed his head in what could have been prayer or equally a desire not to show his face. Certainly it was carefully blank when he raised his head again. ‘Might one ask where?’

‘You might want to tell us where.’

‘If I were a mind-reader perhaps I would. As it is, you’ll have to tell me.’

‘I’m still waiting for an answer, Mr Barnes.’

‘Then you’ll have to wait till kingdom come.’ He got to his feet in an easy movement.

Fran was desperate to dive to the rescue, but wanted Sue to have one more chance to redeem herself. It didn’t take long to realise that she waited in vain.

‘Mr Barnes, you might as well sit down again, you know,’ Fran said. ‘From what I know of HMP Lewes, this is one of the better rooms, and believe it or not we’re better company than some of your colleagues.’

‘Not much to boast about, Inspector, when most of the inmates are illiterate drug users whose only occupations seem to be self-abuse or buggery.’

‘I told you, it’s Det—’

Fran overrode her. ‘Quite, Mr Barnes.’ She allowed her voice to become conversational. ‘You’ve put your finger on a major problem with the present prison system. I wish you could have a word with our beloved leaders, most of whom
clearly haven’t spent so much as a day in a nick, let alone weeks, months and years. How have you kept your sanity?’

‘Believe it or not, Inspector, by staying angry. The system has deprived me not only of my career but also of my ambition. I wanted to put something back into society. To make a difference. I was standing for the town council. I don’t see me getting so much as a nomination when I get out, do you? And no amount of your playing around trying to get me to tell you the whereabouts of a woman I emphatically did not kill is going to help that.’

Fran nodded. ‘Very well. Let me come straight out with the information. Mrs Roper’s body was found in a covered reservoir. She had been strangled and trussed to a beam inside the reservoir roof. To have put her there you would need to know about diving – swimming at the very least – and to have no mean physique. However kind one wants to be to Ken Roper, one can’t imagine his being able to string her up that way. You were always perceived as his accomplice, and I have to tell you that in my view you’d be capable of lifting Janine and—’

‘Of course I was capable of lifting the poor woman. I gave evidence that I had carried her upstairs to my bedroom. She had a severe migraine and couldn’t see to walk. Your colleagues, not surprisingly, found her DNA on my clothes and on my bedclothes. Their deduction was that I had helped kill her.’

‘And the deduction of the jury,’ Sue put in.

‘As you were kind enough to observe, Constable, I’m a scientist, and, believe me, people are taken in by anything a man in a white coat tells them. Even if they know he’s an actor in a white coat, they still get taken in.’

‘And you’re trying to take me in now.’

He snorted. ‘The philosopher said, All men are liars. He was a man. Therefore he was lying. Therefore all men tell the truth. Surely, Constable, you can do better than that.’

Fran said, ‘Well, you’ve given us a lesson in logic, Mr Barnes. How about giving us your unprejudiced opinions of Janine and her untimely death?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’ He settled down in the manner of a man about to share a chinwag over a pint.

Fran mirrored him, though Sue still sat aloof. ‘Janine first. Make me see the living woman,’ Fran urged.

‘She and Ken were the mistakes in each other’s lives. Oh, Ken will tell you how happy they were—’

‘He has,’ Fran agreed. ‘Why are you telling me different?’

‘One of your colleagues’ insinuations was that because Ken and I were friends and enjoyed sailing we were in a gay relationship. We were not. We were friends from our schooldays, and liked sailing. That was it. I had my own private life, which involved all sorts of things Ken had no interest in. Alas, he did not have a life, private or otherwise. And then, God help him, he got the idea that he could meet his heart’s desire on the Internet. Janine was on the rebound, I suspect, and he had never fancied himself in love before. Because it was undeniably cheaper for them to live together, they chose to do so. Janine even had her big white dress day. But to their friends – and I really liked the woman, don’t get me wrong – the marriage was hollow. Six months of living with Ken and she was bored out of her not very large skull – any fool could see that. She fed Ken a stream of lies about having to work late at school – as if she were a teacher, for God’s sake! – and went off and did…whatever she did. She
didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask, for everyone’s sake. I reasoned that what the eye didn’t see, the heart didn’t grieve over.’

‘Surely you had a duty to tell your friend that his wife was two-timing him!’ Sue declared.

‘If I’d
known
, yes, perhaps I would have had a duty. I took great care not to know. If Ken had ever told me he was unhappy, then I would have had a duty. But he was genuinely happier than I’d ever known him, so proud of his lovely wife.’

‘Was she lovely? In appearance, I mean,’ Fran asked, hoping her question would drown the sound of Sue’s derisive snort.

‘She could be, no doubt about it. One of Ken’s gifts to her was a portrait. The sitter goes along to some photographic studio with several changes of clothing. A make-up artist transforms her. She’s photographed in a variety of poses and outfits. The result is a soft-focus fraud which costs the buyer far more than it’s worth. Anyway, Janine looked very good indeed in her photograph.’

Fran leant forward, stroking her chin. ‘The funny thing is, Ken, we’ve never come across any photo like that.’

‘You wouldn’t have, not unless you’ve had access to my house.’

‘Not yet,’ Fran was forced to admit.

It was, of course, a serious omission, one he was quick to seize on, shaking his head in ironic sadness. ‘I’d have thought you’d be more thorough than that. But I suppose you’ve been focusing on Ken.’

She tried to regroup. ‘So what will I find at your house, Maurice?’

‘You do these searches yourself? Don’t you delegate?’ Then he looked meaningfully at Sue. ‘Perhaps not.’

‘Tell me what to look for when I go. Janine’s portrait apart.’

‘Don’t you want to know why I should have it?’

‘If you want to tell me I’m more than happy to listen. But I shall make up my own mind, remember.’

‘It upset Ken to see her tricked out with such glamour.’

‘Come, now—’

‘He liked his wife as he saw her every day,’ he insisted. ‘Loved her. He was a simple soul – still is, I should imagine. And it suited me to have the photo on my wall.’

‘Was she your beard, Maurice?’

He acknowledged the term with a lift of one eyebrow. ‘Oh, I’m not gay. The funny thing is I believe I’m asexual. I’ve never had the privilege – or perhaps the opposite, though the antonym escapes me for the moment – of a grand passion. And curiously Janine’s portrait kept predatory people of both sexes at bay. I stress I was fond of the girl, in a strictly fraternal way. I liked her as if I were her brother, Constable,’ he enunciated very slowly.

‘Don’t try to patronise my colleague, please, Mr Barnes,’ Fran said crisply. ‘And while we’re at it, I’m a detective chief superintendent, not an inspector. But please call me Ms Harman.’

‘They
are
sending in the heavy guns!’ he mocked.

‘We’ve got them – we might as well use them. Now, what do you think Janine got up to when she wasn’t with Ken?’

‘I can only speculate. Janine was the opposite to me, Ms Harman. Oversexed, I would say. And basically, Ken wasn’t delivering. And I suspect she took risks. And drugs. Hence her insomnia.’

‘And she took these drugs where?’

‘Clubs? But she was a bit old to go to discos, and there were
times I wondered…there were times I saw someone looking remarkably like her – oh, she was dressed up to the nines and heavily made up – picking up delegates to conferences in hotels in the area.’

‘Might she have looked like this, Mr Barnes?’ Fran fanned the doctored photos on the table.

With a slight, sad laugh he touched one. ‘This is remarkably similar to how she looks in the portrait in my living room.’

Fran made a little rewinding gesture. ‘You imply she was a part-time prostitute. What did she do with the money she earned?’

‘I would say she probably spent some on drugs. The rest – who knows?’

‘And where would she keep the glamorous clothes and wigs?’

He spread his hands. ‘I could scarcely ask her, could I? Certainly, before you ask, not in my apartment. And although she must have had some women friends, I never heard her allude to them – certainly never met them.’

‘How long before her death did you see her apparently picking up men?’

‘Six months? After that, I had no sightings. I reckoned that she had found herself, to use an old-fashioned phrase, a
fancy-man
. Find the man, find the clothes?’ He stood, not overtly stretching, certainly not displaying, but very much a man in control of himself and – now – the situation. ‘If you need to see me again, I will cooperate in any way I can. I would like to see poor little Janine’s killer rotting in jail – preferably for life.’ As he raised his hand to knock for the prison officer to take him away, he added with a charming smile and a slight bow, ‘Actually, Ms Harman, I’ve been teasing you. I only
rented my apartment. All my belongings have been packed away and put in storage. Every last book, every last CD. But at least they’ll be safe for when I come out.’ He paused. ‘If you want to see them my solicitor will furnish you with the details of the self-storage warehouse. But promise me one thing. There’s valuable antique china and glass in the packing cases. Don’t let a plod get his – or her – hands on them.’ Very carefully he did not glance at Sue.

Sue Hall took Fran’s few but pithy observations about her interview style very badly, and Fran suspected she’d spent long minutes in the ladies’ loo bathing her eyes and applying fresh make-up. The best way, Fran decided, to repair her dented ego would be for her to take the lead during the afternoon’s briefing session. Suspecting the girl would get the jitters if she had an advance warning, Fran simply told the group that Sue would do the business. And she did it very well, after a rocky start.

‘So you two believe the guy?’ Dan Coveney asked.

‘’Fraid so. He’s cocky, likes long words – I should imagine he put the jury’s back up,’ Sue said, though she had the sense not to add that she spoke from experience.

‘Well,’ Coveney continued, ‘that fits in rather with our other hope – the diving gear stowed in Roper’s locker at the yacht club. The DNA on it, to be precise. There’s loads of Roper’s, as you’d expect. And that of several so far unidentified people. But of Janine’s and indeed Barnes’ there is none. And no, I’m not joking,’ he snarled to a couple of lads at the back. ‘So just as it looks as if we’re getting closer, it all slips away again.’

‘Like a mirage in the desert,’ Sue muttered, surprising Fran.

‘So we’re back in the desert without a camel,’ Fran summed up. ‘We had great hopes that Dale Drury – Dave Henson and Joanne Pearce’s serial killer – might have done the biz for us. But he swears he didn’t, and, bar making him take a polygraph test, I tend to believe him. If I were a juror, I’d certainly have let Roper and Barnes walk, and I’m certain the Appeal Court will now. So where do we go from here?’ It was a genuine, not a rhetorical question. ‘What have the local door-to-doors thrown up?’