Strange Blood (10 page)

‘Des, you're not expecting me to con my way into some coven, are you? You don't seriously think I'd get away with…'

‘No, of course not,' Des interrupted, ‘I'm not that stupid. It'd have to be one of the researchers. Someone who's never been on screen, anyway.' Delva heard another strange noise down the line. This time it sounded as if he was blowing his nose. ‘No, what I want you to do is use your contacts to get the lowdown on the bloke,' Des said. ‘Remember that documentary you did last Christmas? The one about the profiler – Megan whatsername?'

‘Yes, what about her,' Delva said guardedly

‘Well according to my mate in Wolverhampton she's at Tipton Street now. He said they've brought her in to help them design an interview strategy – something like that, anyway. So I was thinking. You and her hit it off quite well, didn't you?' He paused but Delva remained silent.

‘Delva, you still there?'

‘Yes.' She knew what he was going to ask and she was wracking her brains to think of a way out of it.

‘Thought you'd fallen asleep on me!' His voice was still buzzing with the thrill of the chase. ‘Listen, I want you to call her up and pick her brains. She owes us big time. Must have had offers pouring in after that doco went out.'

It would be a waste of breath, Delva knew, to remind Des that Megan had been reluctant to make the documentary in the first place. That she was a respected academic who already had more outside work than she could handle. Des had the instincts of a Rottweiler when it came to a good story, and he didn't care who had to be savaged in order to get it.

‘Okay, I'll phone her,' she said resignedly. ‘But don't build your hopes up. She's as tight as a cat's arse when it comes to talking about her police work, you know.' Delva felt bad about stooping to his level, describing the woman she had come to think of as a friend in those terms. But it was the only way to get the message across. She hoped that by the time she gave him the news that Megan wasn't going to play ball he might have calmed down a bit.

‘Well, we'll see.' There was a devious edge to his voice and Delva got the impression there was something he wasn't telling her. There was no way he could know what the woman in the café had told her. She had decided to lie to him about what happened. Less hassle that way. As far as he knew the woman had failed to show. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly six hours since she had made that phone call to Steve Foy. The man they were holding now had to be the guy Tessa was supposed to have had an affair with.

‘Can you get on to it now?' Des's voice cut across her thoughts. ‘I'll get someone else to do the early shift. Give us a bell after the programme tonight – let me know what she says, yeah?'

As soon as she replaced the receiver the phone rang again.

‘Delva? It's Steve Foy. Thought you might like to know that tip-off was bang on target!'

‘What, you mean you've charged someone?' Delva feigned ignorance.

‘Not yet, no, but it's looking pretty good. I owe you a drink, okay?'

‘Oh, great!' She tried to muster an enthusiasm she didn't feel. ‘Is it the bloke in the photo? Off the record, I mean.'

‘Yeah. Name's Sean Raven. Right weirdo he is, too. Can't go into detail, obviously, but he certainly fits the bill.'

‘Steve,' Delva smiled to herself, astonished at the brilliant solution that had suddenly flashed into her mind. ‘Don't s'pose you could let me have the phone number of the woman in the car, could you? It's just for future reference, really – if it comes to court we'll probably want to interview her for a backgrounder.'

‘Don't see why not,' he said, ‘After all, she doesn't need to know where you got it from, does she? Tell you what, come over for a drink and I'll fill you in on a few more details while we're at it.'

Oh God, here we go, she thought. But she was willing to string him along. Just until she'd got enough out of him to get Des off her back.

*   *   *

The three naked women were standing in front of a huge, golden full moon. All of them had long black hair, swept back to reveal their breasts. The one facing the front had a blazing torch in her left hand. The other two stood back-to-back behind her. One held a vicious-looking whip while the other brandished a silver-bladed dagger that glinted in the moonlight.

Megan pursed her lips. The artist responsible for the cover would certainly not have won any prizes but there was no mistaking what the book was about. Leafing through the pages she found more naked women drawn in various poses alongside each chapter heading. There were sections on Initiation, Sacred Sites, Methods of Divination and Making Magic and these were interspersed with photographs of men and women in long robes and heavy, Celtic-style jewellery.

She smiled wryly as she noted that the men all seemed to have beards and were the wrong side of forty, while the women were much younger and distinctly nubile. It seemed to be a common feature of the library of books on the occult found in Sean Raven's house. She put the book down on the table alongside a biography of Aleister Crowley. One look at the depraved face of the book's subject leering out from the front cover should have been enough to put most people off the occult for life, she thought. But what about Tessa Ledbury? What had drawn her into this shadowy world? Megan remembered what Delva had said about the man with his hand on Tessa's knee in the photograph.
White, about mid-forties, shoulder-length grey hair, slim. Very intense eyes. Not bad-looking, actually.
She wondered how much longer she would have to wait to see Sean Raven for herself.

Steve Foy had asked her wait down in the basement after she had briefed the team on the forthcoming interview. It had been a tense half-hour session, with Kate O'Leary barely concealing her triumph at having apparently been proved right. When Megan had reminded her that there was no forensic evidence to pin on Sean Raven and that the only hope of getting him to admit the crime lay in subtle psychological empathising during interrogation, she had stood up and walked out of the room, muttering something about needing the loo.

‘Hi! He's put you in the dungeon, has he?' Dave Todd appeared round the door, two cups in his hand.

‘Thanks,' Megan said, ‘I'm gasping.'

‘I'm not surprised.' He sat down opposite her and took plastic spoons and sachets of sugar from his pocket. ‘We're still waiting for Sean Raven's brief to show up. He was supposed to be here half an hour ago.'

Megan raised her cup to her lips and noticed how Dave Todd's glasses had steamed up around the lower edges. He was drinking it black. Must have an asbestos mouth, she thought. Hers was too hot even with milk.

She eyed him over the rim of her cup. The gold-frames suited him. They gave him an interesting, intellectual air. She guessed that they probably made him look older than he really was. If she had had to put an age on him she would have said twenty-six or twenty-seven. But he could be younger.

She tried to imagine his backgound, his progression to detective sergeant. It was something she did whenever she met someone new, a habit so ingrained she couldn't help doing it, even when she didn't need to. She had him down as a graduate who was being pushed through the ranks quickly.

‘You don't think Raven's the killer, do you?' Todd's sudden, direct question caught Megan off guard.

‘Well, I, er … I couldn't really express an opinion until we've done the interview,' she faltered.

‘I don't either,' he said simply.

She eyed him curiously. ‘Why not?'

‘I was the arresting officer when he was up on the rape charge,' he said. ‘It was a joke from start to finish. That Carole-Ann Beddowes is an evil bitch.' The venom in his voice was unmistakeable. Megan held his gaze.

‘You think she made the whole thing up?'

He nodded. ‘She could lie for England, that one. And now she's out for revenge, big style.
Hell hath no fury,
and all that.' He drained his cup and tossed it into the bin. ‘If I was the Guv I'd be taking a bit more interest in the cyclist.'

Megan frowned. ‘What cyclist?'

‘He hasn't told you?' There was a flicker of embarrassment in Todd's eyes. ‘One of Tessa's neighbours told us this morning. Said she remembered someone on a bicycle going past the house round the time of the murder. She said whoever it was seemed in a hurry. Nearly knocked her flying as she was coming along the pavement.'

Megan flushed with anger. How could Foy have failed to tell her something as important as that? ‘This neighbour,' she said, trying to control her voice, ‘did she give you a description?'

‘Not a very good one, no,' Todd said. ‘Wasn't even sure if it was a man or a woman. Just said it was a white person in a black tracksuit and a black cycling helmet. Couldn't say what colour hair or eyes because the helmet obscured the face.'

‘And the age?' Megan persisted. ‘Did she give you any idea of that?'

Todd shook his head. ‘She's sixty-nine and she wasn't wearing her glasses

‘So what makes you so sure the person on the bike wasn't Raven?'

‘He's lost a kneecap.' Todd's gaze was unwavering. ‘Car accident a few years back. Can't bend his right leg.'

*   *   *

Delva peered at her A-Z in the twilight. She wasn't sure if this was the right street. She knew she should have left it another day, really. He probably wouldn't even have received the flowers yet.

She checked the address again. Yes. This had to be the right place. She moved the gear stick into first, and was about to start driving slowly along, scanning the house numbers, when she saw him. Richard Ledbury was coming out of the front porch of a pebble-dashed house, brushing aside a trailing frond of wisteria that flopped across his face as he opened the door.

Delva stopped the car and switched off the engine. She could feel her heart pounding and realised how ridiculous that was. He was dressed more casually than when she had last seen him. The T-shirt and jeans made him look younger. His face looked the same, though. A deep frown line between his eyebrows. Not that it made him any less attractive. She felt a powerful urge to run over and take him in her arms.

Then she saw the woman. Coming out behind him. Dark hair like Megan's. It was the policewoman she had seen yesterday. What was her name? Kate something? Probably come to break the news about Tessa's lover.

Delva watched as they walked along the street away from her. They stopped when they reached a Vauxhall Corsa. Purple or dark blue. She couldn't really tell, it was getting dark. She got in the driver's seat and he went round the other side. Was she taking him to the station? They sat there for a few minutes, talking. Delva wondered if the policewoman was having to use her powers of persuasion again.

When it happened she was so shocked she blinked. They kissed. A quick, furtive movement that she told herself she must have imagined. But no. They did it again. And now he was getting out. Standing there on the pavement gazing after the tailights of the car as it disappeared down the street.

*   *   *

Back in this piss-awful dump. Blew it with that last one. Bitch had company. Should've headed back then, but it seemed such a waste. So many possibilities at the precinct. Click, click, click of heels on concrete. No one with the X-factor, though. Never mind. Bound to be queuing early tomorrow. Ringside seats for the hottest show in town.

Chapter 7

Megan tensed as Foy's arm brushed hers. He was leaning across to rewind the video footage of Raven's interview and his peppermint breath filled her nostrils, making her want to gag.

She was seething inside at the thought of him holding back the information about the cyclist. What was the point of involving her in the case if he withheld crucial details like that? She wasn't sure what game he was playing, but it was obvious he was not to be trusted. She fought back the instinct to walk out; refuse to have anything more to do with the investigation. She
had
to find out about Raven. Weigh him up. She had to satisfy herself that Foy was on the wrong track. And so she would keep silent about the cyclist. For now.

‘Would you like something to eat?' Steve Foy glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I can get something sent down from the canteen.'

Megan shook her head. The last thing she had eaten was the ham roll in the café at Pendleton. That was nearly nine hours ago. But she didn't feel hungry. Listening to Sean Raven had robbed her of her appetite.

The expression on Foy's face told her that he was feeling just as frustrated as she was, albeit for a different reason. Nothing had worked. The empathising, the answering of a question with a question, the encouraging nods – all had produced a big fat zero. As they should, of course, if the man was innocent.

She had sat watching the interview through a two-way mirror, directing the questions via an audio link with Foy and O'Leary. She had noted the way he reacted, his facial expressions, the way he moved his hands and altered his posture. Now she and Foy were going over it again on the tape.

It wasn't hard to imagine what had drawn Tessa Ledbury to him. He had an angular face with well-defined cheekbones and an aquiline nose. But the most arresting feature was his mesmering, indigo blue eyes. At times during the interview Megan had felt as if he could see her through the mirror. He seemed to be looking right at her. But that was impossible, she told herself.

She flicked a switch, freezing his face on the screen. Although attractive, it was drawn-looking. Megan could guess what must be going through his mind. He had been out of prison for just seven weeks. And now this. Yes, he had had an affair with Tessa Ledbury. No, he had not seen her since he came out of jail. No, he could not care less whether she had become a Christian. And no, he did not kill her. He was at home on the morning she died. Working on a magazine he published on his PC. Yes, it was a contact magazine for swingers. So what?