The Death Pictures (46 page)

Just one more thing to ask, Dan thought, and that leads into it nicely.

‘I’m on the programme tonight to talk about how I solved the riddle and what will happen next. So I need a little bit of info if you wouldn’t mind?’

‘As ever. Of course. The usual rules apply. It didn’t come from me.’

‘Of course. What did you find when you went with Abi to the bank?’

‘Exactly what she said we would. There was the answer to the riddle and a letter from Joseph outlining the plan in detail. It absolves Abi from blame entirely.’

Dan noted that down. ‘But that’s not the end, is it? She’s still liable to be charged.’

The phone hummed with a sigh.

‘That’s the only outstanding matter now, and it’s a tough one,’ replied Adam. ‘I’ve released her on police bail. She’s not going to go anywhere. For what it’s worth, I think she was acting entirely under Joseph’s influence. He was clearly a dominating character and she was following his directions. We’ve had some discussions here with the Crown Prosecution Service already, and the view we’re coming to is that she’s unlikely to be charged. Very unlikely in fact. We can’t see how it’ll serve any public purpose. She’ll probably be let off with a caution.’

A fitting ending, Dan thought. He’d believed Abi too. She was obviously totally devoted to Joseph. When would he meet a woman like that? The only one he’d ever loved hadn’t exactly managed that, had she? She’d walked out on him. Thomasin...

Enough of that. There was Claire and the weekend to look forward to. No need to spoil it, wallowing in the pain of the past. No need to be defeated before you start. He’d done that with enough relationships.

‘Thanks, Adam. We must meet up for a beer again soon, it’s been far too long.’ But Dan understood why. His friend was back with his family now, happy again.

‘I’d like that. Come round and have supper with me and Annie and Tom. You can bore Annie with the story of how you cracked the riddle.’

She won’t be the first, Dan thought, or the last. Many, many people are going to be hearing about it, very many indeed. It would become his favourite anecdote. He doubted whether he would ever tire of telling it.

‘OK, mate, I’d like that. Oh, just while you’re on the phone, I know it’s not your case, but is there any update on the Godley murder? McCluskey’s dominating the news at the moment, but I’ll have to keep an eye on Godley too.’

Dan thought he heard Adam swallow, but it could have been the mobile phone line.

‘No, not really,’ the detective replied. ‘They’re still investigating. The trouble is, there are no prints on the knife that was used to kill him, and there were half a dozen other inmates in the washroom when he was stabbed. They’ve all smeared his blood on them. Clever that. It means we can’t work out who actually did it, and we can’t charge all of them with murder. That would get thrown straight out of court.’

Another pause, and Adam’s voice changed, from businesslike to... what? Relieved was the best way Dan could put it.

‘The only real lead we have is that one of the inmates has a sister who was best friends with one of the rape victims. He’s a bit of a hard man too. So we think it probably is him, but proving it is going to be very difficult, if not impossible.’

In the meeting after that night’s programme, Lizzie was more effervescent than Dan had ever seen her.

‘We’ve led the way on this story from the start, but tonight… tonight!!’

Was she going to break down in tears, he wondered? It was like watching one of those nauseating acceptance speeches at the Oscars. The adrenaline of being on air was ebbing, and he could feel the growing weight of the tiredness it had been holding at bay. He wanted to go home, go for a jog with Rutherford, then hit the sofa with a beer, to lie there and clear his mind. For the first time in ages not to think about a thing, not about the Death Pictures, not anything.

Lizzie was still talking, the words tumbling in a waterfall of excitement. ‘It was wonderful, amazing, stupendous, to have the exclusive on solving the riddle, to have it done by one of our staff, to have Kiddey on live exclusively… well, words fail me.’

There was a silence as journalists, cameramen, picture editors, engineers, directors, all stared at her. Dan could read their thoughts. That was almost as big a story as the one they’d just broadcast.

‘I don’t know how we’ll ever top this,’ she continued. Being lost for words didn’t last long then, Dan mused. ‘Magnificent work one and all. Just magnificent. The drinks are on me tonight.’

He had a pint in the small but cheerful work bar, told the story of cracking the riddle again to a group of radio colleagues, then decided to go home. Rutherford would need a toilet break and he was feeling leaden with tiredness.

There’d been another development that Dan hadn’t anticipated, and was finding oddly uncomfortable. A few minutes after he’d appeared on
Wessex Tonight
to explain how he’d cracked McCluskey’s riddle, the newsroom phones had gone mad. There were scores of journalists from across the country – and quite a few international ones too – wanting interviews and pictures.

Dan found he wasn’t enjoying the paradigm shift from reporter to reported. It felt like a switch from hunter to prey. A growing urge was encouraging him to escape the media attention and hide away at home. It had been an extraordinary few days and he’d had enough. It was time for some calm.

Fred on reception stopped Dan as he walked towards the automatic doors.

‘That chap, he left something for you.’

‘What chap?’

‘You know, the artist fellow. The one who was on air with you tonight.’

Kid? What had he left?

Fred pointed to a bubble wrapped package, flat and about four feet by two, the colours and details of a painting just visible within. There was a note attached. Dan picked it off and read it.

‘The spell in jail made me a much finer artist and person. A major London exhibition is already being arranged of the works I painted while I was inside. This is the best of them. I’ll need to borrow it back for the show, but it’s yours. With my most heartfelt thanks always, Kid.’

Blimey, two new pictures in a day Dan thought, picking it up. And both worth tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands of pounds. I could sell them and retire. It would certainly be a way to escape the media attention. Perhaps join El on his holiday and extend it, stay a few months even. But then what would I do? I’d be bored within days.

He’d checked insurance premiums for fine art on the internet that afternoon and got a shock. There was no way he could afford to keep the paintings in his flat, not without turning the place into a fortress. And Rutherford would only bang into them and cover them with fur anyway. It wasn’t how such works should be treated.

He knew what he was going to do. He was happy enough living as he did, didn’t need money or great art. Solving the puzzle was what mattered to him, not the prize. The memory of that interview with Rachel was still vivid in his mind. Tomorrow, he’d find the numbers of a couple of charities set up to help the victims of rape and see if they could use a painting. A print of each would do him. It would be more fitting.

About the author…

Simon Hall

Simon Hall has been the BBC’s Crime Correspondent in the south-west of England for three years. He also regularly broadcasts on BBC Radio Devon and BBC Radio Cornwall.

For more information please visit Simon Hall’s website

www.thetvdetective.com

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