The Headhunters (15 page)

But had it really happened? She had a worrying suspicion she was alone in the bed and she was scared to turn over and see if he was there. The potential for disappointment was huge. Could she feel the warmth of another body, or was it simply her own? She listened for breathing and couldn’t hear any. Then there was a sound from the kitchen, the purring of the kettle. He was out there making coffee.

Modesty took over. She hopped out of bed and snatched some things from the drawer, got under the duvet again and pulled them on just before he entered with two mugs. He was fully dressed.

‘I woke you,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s all right. I’m not used to getting coffee made for me.’

‘You see, I know it’s Sunday, but I have to get to work.’

‘I’ll drive you in.’ Oops, she thought. That would be against his principles. ‘If I had a bike, you could borrow it, but I don’t.’

‘I can get the bus.’

‘If I drive you, we’ll have time for breakfast. And don’t you dare say you never eat it.’ Oh, hell, she thought, that sounded awfully like nagging.

But cooking for him and driving him to Pagham were important, as if to demonstrate that last night hadn’t just been about the sex. If she had remained in bed and let him go out of the door, the whole thing would have seemed like just another one night stand.

In the car he said, ‘I’m not used to this.’

‘Being driven?’ Jo said, knowing he meant something else.

‘Sleeping with someone.’

‘It didn’t show. I mean, it was . . . really special. I’m not promiscuous either, by the way.’

‘Nice slogan for a T-shirt.’

‘We should get two made. Ah, but imagine what Rick and Gemma would make of it. They’d never let it rest.’

‘I expect they spent the night together.’

‘I’m not sure. The last time I mentioned it to Gemma she said they hadn’t. I think if they had, she’d be only too keen to crow about it.’

‘Can’t she keep a secret?’

‘Gemma?’ She laughed at the notion. ‘Only when it amuses her to keep people dangling, like they did about her boss and what happened to him.’

‘That’s just talk,’ he said. ‘They don’t know anything.’

He said this with such certainty that momentarily it crossed Jo’s mind that Jake knew the truth about Mr Cartwright’s disappearance. But how could he? She dismissed the idea.

A SILVER Xsara Picasso was found shortly after midday in a field on the west side of the Chidham peninsula. A grey cover was over it. The plates and road fund licence had been removed, but no one had much doubt that it was Fiona’s.

‘I want this area taped off and nobody else touching the thing until forensics have been by,’ Hen said. She’d been confident, but it was still a relief to have found the car.

The searchers who had made the find had folded back the cover from the bonnet to check the make and registration. It’s a truism among crime scene investigators that everyone visiting a crime scene brings something to it and takes something away. Fortunately there was a good chance of recovering some DNA from the interior and perhaps from the cover as well.

She called the incident room and asked for Stella. Instead she got Sergeant Murphy. He reminded her that Stella was out at Apuldram searching Cartwright’s house.

‘Who else is with you?’

‘It’s Sunday morning, guv. We’re down to three.’

She got on to Emsworth and asked for some of that cross-border co-operation. They agreed to send a car to the Millpond to arrest Francisco on suspicion of stealing a vehicle. They would deliver him to Chichester for questioning.

‘What’s my thinking here?’ she asked Gary to see how he was shaping up as a member of CID.

‘We let Francisco get the idea it’s only the car theft we’re interested in and catch him off guard?’

‘You can do better than that.’

‘We can get a sample of his DNA?’

‘We’ll do that, yes, but it isn’t what I’m driving at.’

He scratched his head. ‘I’m not at my sharpest today, guv. I got to bed quite late.’

‘Blaming me, are you? Didn’t you ever read PACE when you were in uniform? When you arrest someone for a serious offence you can enter and search his house without a warrant.’

‘Oh, I knew that.’

‘But you didn’t say, did you? Get with it, Gary.’

Leaving two uniformed officers to remain with the car until the forensic unit turned up, she drove back to Chichester and had a canteen breakfast.

FRANCISCO WAS already slumped in a chair in Interview Room Two looking as if he needed an Alka Seltzer. Hen and Gary sat opposite. After the preliminaries were spoken, Hen said, ‘You know what you’re here for?’

‘No.’ He was trying to stare her out.

‘It was explained to you when you were arrested. You’re under suspicion of stealing a vehicle. Where did you go last evening?’

‘Jongleurs.’

‘Come again?’

Gary said, ‘It’s that nightclub in Portsmouth, guv, Gun Wharf Quay.’

‘You’re telling us you were in Portsmouth?’ she asked Francisco, making clear her disbelief.

‘My job, isn’t it? Security.’

‘We know about that. What hours do you work?’

‘Eight till two-thirty.’

‘You were never in Portsmouth at eight last night.’

He shrugged. ‘I may have gone in later.’

‘Cut the crap, Francisco. You were driving round the lanes of Chidham between nine and ten. We were following you.’

Trying to appear cool, he leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his neck. ‘What for?’

‘Let’s spell it out, then. We found Fiona’s car in the field at Chidham this morning. You led us there. Forensics are testing for traces of DNA and prints. When we compare them with the samples you’ve given and checked the tyreprints of your Land Rover, I fully expect to be charging you. I wouldn’t try bluffing if I were you. Science has overtaken all that. Follow me now?’

‘No.’

‘Come on, Francisco. You stole her Xsara Picasso and left it under a cover in a field after removing the plates and licence. You’re her neighbour and she trusted you with a key to her house. You let yourself in and took away the paperwork, all evidence that she ever possessed the car. I’m sure your plan was to wait a few weeks and then get a respray and sell it on.’

‘You’re talking bollocks.’

She ignored that. ‘When the tests results are in, we’ll charge you. Then we move to the next stage, proving you murdered her by drowning.’

He sneered. ‘Lady, you couldn’t be more bloody wrong. Some other person killed her.’

‘You had the motive,’ Hen said. ‘You wanted that car. You live at the scene of the crime, where the body was found. You’re a professional, licensed bullyboy. No problem for a man of your strength drowning a woman. You thought it would be taken for an accident, but it wasn’t. We found the marks on her neck. You’re in deep shit, my friend.’

Francisco altered his posture, sitting forward, elbows on the table. At last he seemed to understand how serious this was. ‘Look, I helped you guys. I called the police when that bird came knocking at my door.’

‘You reported she was missing, yes, playing the part of the good neighbour. It’s amazing how often the person who reports the crime turns out to be the perpetrator.’

He frowned.

‘Killer,’ Hen said.

‘This is so wrong.’

Hen glanced towards Gary as if in two minds. ‘Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves.’

Gary shrugged. ‘You said you’d spell it out, ma’am.’

‘So I did.’

Gary was making up for earlier failings. He added, ‘You believe in telling it like it is.’

‘So right, but we’ll take it in stages. Step one: We need to prove Francisco nicked the car.’

‘Everything follows from that,’ Gary said.

‘Hang about,’ Francisco said. ‘Just because I took the car doesn’t mean I killed Fiona.’

‘You admit to the car theft?’ Hen said, saw his reaction and said for the tape, ‘The witness nods. We’re getting somewhere, then. You took it why?’

‘She didn’t need it no more.’

‘You decided it was up for grabs?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You thought no one would notice if her car disappeared? That takes some believing.’

He opened his hands as if he didn’t care what they believed.

Hen said, ‘All right. Let’s run with that for a moment, unlikely as it seems. You took the paperwork for the car as well? You had the key and let yourself into the house and raided the filing cabinet?’

He gave an exaggerated yawn.

She spoke to Gary again. ‘It does suggest he thought he’d get away with car theft.’

Gary had heard the cautious note and gave only a slight nod.

‘On the other hand,’ Hen went on, ‘he may have wanted to throw suspicion on someone else for the murder of Fiona.’

‘How would he do that?’ Gary asked as Francisco looked from one to the other.

‘Well, his first line of defence was that she drowned accidentally. But just in case that wasn’t believed and we discovered she was murdered, he thought if he removed the car from the scene we would mistakenly assume her killer drove off in it, thus deflecting suspicion from himself, the man living next door.’

‘Wicked,’ Gary said.

‘You say I killed her? No way.’ Francisco flapped his hand as if swatting a fly.

‘Somebody did,’ Hen said. ‘Did you fancy her, Francisco?’

‘Per-lease.’

‘You disliked her, then? A bad neighbour? Was she giving you trouble?’

‘No.’

‘It’s easy to see how disputes arise. Loud music late at night getting on your nerves. Well, I guess it couldn’t be that because you’re used to loud music late at night. It’s your job. You’re not around most nights. Perhaps it was the reverse. She objected to you coming home in the small hours, banging doors and waking her up. She kept complaining. Drove you round the twist. Is that the truth of it?’

‘Are you trying to say I’m mental?’

‘Not at all. Angry. Violent. But for a reason.’

‘Fuck off, will you?’

‘We’re about to,’ Hen said smoothly. A delay would be useful. This had gone as far as it could for the present. If Francisco was the killer, there would be more to throw at him after his house was searched.

Hen stood. ‘I’m keeping you under arrest. When we brought you in for questioning it was in connection with the theft of a vehicle. You’re now under suspicion of murder.’

thirteen

‘ DO YOU RECKON FRANCISCO slept with Fiona?’ Hen asked Gary.

Gary weighed the question for a moment before shaking his head.

‘Or wanted to?’

He answered with a smile and a shrug that said he wasn’t a mind-reader.

‘They were on close terms,’ Hen pointed out. ‘Must have been if she gave him a key.’

‘With respect, guv, that doesn’t mean a lot these days. They were neighbours,’ Gary said, making Hen feel about ninety.

‘You see where I’m heading with this?’ she said. ‘I know he’s not Mastermind, but he’d be an idiot to kill her for the bloody car. What other motive is there?’

‘Maybe she kept a load of money lying around the house.’

‘Maybe she didn’t. She was an accountant. They keep it in interest-bearing accounts.’

‘She had something on him, then?’

‘Blackmail, you mean? I suppose he may have had secrets she got to know about. But he doesn’t have a record. We checked.’

‘All that means is that he’s not been caught.’

‘Okay, but I can’t see Fiona as a blackmailer.’

‘She knew how to get what she wanted.’

‘You mean what we heard from the people who worked with her? Cosying up to the boss? Yes, they made her sound like the office whore. But she was up to something smarter, known to us women as maximising your assets.’

‘This wasn’t the office,’ Gary said. ‘This was the bloke next door.’

‘How did it work, then?’

Gary hesitated. He was new in the job, but he already knew he’d better not look smarter than the boss. ‘I’m guessing, but let’s say he was into something dodgy.’

‘Such as?’

‘Nicking cars and doing them up. Fiona watches the comings and goings, follows him one day, finds out, and sees a way of turning a profit.’

‘By threatening to tell all? She’d be taking a mega risk demanding money from a hard man like Francisco.’

‘She did. We know the result,’ he said.

‘Not bad, Gary,’ Hen said, ‘not bad at all. I’ve only got one problem with it. We’re investigating two drownings. If he killed Fiona because she was blackmailing him, how do we explain the killing of Meredith Sentinel?’

Gary actually looked relieved, like a driver who has wound down the window and been told he was speeding and had better improve his driving next time. ‘You’ve got me there, guv.’

Hen said, ‘It’s back to the sexual motive.’

She’d lost Gary altogether now. He was frowning. ‘I didn’t think either woman was assaulted.’

‘I’m not suggesting they were. It’s more about what was going on in Francisco’s mind.’

He still looked baffled.

‘Picture the scene on the beach,’ Hen went on. ‘Meredith starts stripping off. They both do, I guess. Suppose Francisco’s secret is that he’s impotent.’

Gary blinked, disbelieving. ‘A muscleman like that?’

‘It’s not so unusual. Agreed, he pumps iron and shaves his head and wears tattoos to suggest the opposite. He persuades himself that if he finds the right woman he’ll turn into a full-blown stud. He’s on a quest to find her. And each time it doesn’t happen he goes into a red mist and kills them. It’s not just that he blames them for his failure, it’s that he can’t bear them knowing. They have to die.’

‘Wow.’

‘But now you’re going to tell me Fiona—unlike Meredith— was fully dressed when she was found. Picture the situation. It’s late at night outside her house beside the Mill Pond. The two of them have been for a drink, or just a walk. The classic dilemma. Just a goodnight peck or an invitation inside? She’s confident with men. She gives him the come-on, kisses, some fumblings. He knows he’s going to disappoint and he panics.’

Gary completed it for her. ‘Pushes her over the edge and drowns her. Hell, yes.’

He was so impressed that Hen felt compelled to add, ‘It’s a possibility, no more.’

‘How would we find out? He’s never going to admit it.’

‘We ambush him. But let’s not leap ahead. If there’s anything in this, he may have killed before. Has Sergeant Murphy finished checking all the drownings I asked him to?’

‘He was still working on it this morning.’

‘Tell him to snap it up.’

GEMMA PHONED about eleven and said she was going to the Island after lunch on a secret mission and why didn’t Jo join her. She made it sound like another adventure for the Famous Five.

‘Which island?’

‘Which do you think, my innocent? Tasmania? Madagascar? The jolly old Isle of Wight, of course.’

Jo wasn’t sure. The trip across the Solent was only ten minutes or so by hovercraft from Southsea, but you didn’t take it unless you meant to stay some hours. The last thing she wanted was one of Gemma’s interrogations about the night before, especially after what had happened. Even so, she was curious. Against her better judgement she heard herself saying, ‘What are you wearing?’

‘Smart casual.’

‘It’s not the beach, then?’

INSIDE THE hovercraft, when Gemma unzipped her white suede jacket it was clear she was dressed for an evening out, all spangle and cleavage.

‘What’s this, girls’ night out?’ Jo said, a little peeved. She was in a cashmere top and skinny jeans. ‘You could have warned me.’

‘You’ll be fine.’

‘So what’s the occasion?’

‘Today is my two hundredth birthday.’

‘Oh, God, Gem, you’re the bloody limit. I haven’t got you a present or anything.’

‘No probs. Buy me a drink instead.’

‘A bottle of fizz?’

‘I won’t say no to that.’

‘Is anyone else coming?’ She was already wondering why Rick wasn’t in the party.

‘Only Brad Pitt and Hugh Grant.’

Be mysterious, then, she thought. ‘Which one is mine? Can I put in a request for Liam Neeson?’

Gemma giggled. ‘The tall, silent type. Yes, we know about you. How was last night, by the way?’

The question she’d been expecting. ‘Okay. And yours?’

‘Better than okay.’ There was no doubt what Gemma’s eyes were saying.

‘I knew he wouldn’t keep you waiting much longer.’ This was going well, the emphasis on what Rick had been like.

‘How do you know it wasn’t me keeping him waiting?’

‘Put it this way,’ Jo said. ‘You wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.’

Gemma gave a hearty laugh. ‘A stud, darling, a rampant stud.’

‘Attagirl.’ The moment to steer the talk away from last night’s intimacies. ‘You did go to Jongleurs? Who was playing?’

‘Some boy band just out of nappies. Very noisy. Rick seemed to think they were hot. His taste isn’t the same as mine. I’ve never thought any band was hot since Duran Duran.’

Jo enjoyed this disclosure. ‘You were one of the new romantics?’

‘A fully paid up member of the tribe. Batwing jumpers, peroxide fringe. I could do it all again, no probs.’

‘I wouldn’t advise it.’

‘How about you? Did you do the dressing up thing?’

‘You bet I did.’

‘Stop,’ Gemma said. ‘Let me guess. You were a goth. Dreadlocks and ripped fishnets.’

‘Do you mind?’

‘Tell me, then.’

‘Studded belt, pixie boots, and lycra leggings.’

‘God help us, Jo! Who were you following, dressed like that? ’ ‘Depeche Mode. Still do on the quiet, but I don’t wear the gear.’

They were silent for a while, indulging in nostalgia, and only jerked out of it when the hovercraft hit a larger wave.

‘The sea’s getting up,’ Jo said. ‘If it gets any worse we could be spending all night on the Island.’

‘I know. The forecast isn’t great, but sod it, this is my birthday.’

‘I still can’t believe you kept quiet about that for so long.’

‘At my age you do, ducky.’

‘Did you get any cards at all—apart from the one from the Queen, of course?’

‘Aunt Jessica always sends. She’s nearly eighty and lives in Singleton.’

‘Where I work.’

‘Is that where your garden centre is?’ Gemma said. ‘I never even knew one was there. Shows how much I care about gardening. My aunt’s quite an expert, though. She’s got a dinky little cottage garden like the cards she sends, all hollyhocks and roses. Funny old dear. Wears a hideous pink hat, indoors and outdoors.’

Jo smiled. ‘I think I might know her, then. Would her name be Miss Peabody?’

‘Sweet Jesus! You’ve met Aunt Jessica.’

‘She’s the bane of our lives. Comes in every day and points out the plants that are ailing.’

‘Brilliant. That’s my Aunt Jess. Small world, huh?’

‘Don’t you have any close family?’

Gemma shook her head. ‘My parents died young and so did my kid brother Terry.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m well-adjusted. Or, as they say in the office, a hard bitch.’

‘No cards from your workmates, then?’

‘I wouldn’t want one from that bunch of tossers and they wouldn’t bother anyway. I’m too stuck-up for them. They’ve got their teeth into more meaty stuff, what with Fiona being murdered and the boss going AWOL. We’ve all been questioned.’

‘What’s going to happen to the business?’

‘Don’t know. All I can do is make sure we complete the current orders.’

‘You’re wishing Mr Cartwright was back?’

‘He won’t be.’ She sounded definite.

‘But if you lose your job over it?’

‘I’m pinning my hopes on someone taking us over. There are plenty of print firms in the area.’

AT RYDE, they went for a drink in the first pub they reached. Jo asked if she should order the birthday champagne, but Gemma said later would be better. She was still being mysterious about what was to come.

Some men at another table started trying to get attention by spinning beer mats and shouting. They weren’t bad-looking and they weren’t teenagers either, but Gemma showed no interest. When one of the mats landed on the table she tossed it back without a glance at them, provoking hoots of derision.

‘Let’s go,’ she said to Jo.

‘It’s a bit of fun, Gem.’

‘We’ve got bigger fish to fry.’

Outside, Jo remembered another saying: Better a small fish than an empty dish. This didn’t seem the time to mention it.

They went for a pizza.

‘I may as well tell you. We’re meeting Rick,’ Gemma said.

Great, Jo thought. What am I doing here, playing gooseberry?

‘Anyone else?’

‘No. You’re the two lucky campers I want to be with on my birthday.’

‘That’ll be nice,’ she lied. ‘Why didn’t Rick come on the hovercraft with us?’

‘Sally.’

She had to think. Sally was Rick’s Sunday lunch date, that older woman he insisted on seeing. ‘He’s still at it?’

‘Don’t know what you mean by “at it,”’ Gemma said. ‘She cooks for him, that’s all.’

If she really believed that, she’d believe anything.

‘It’s been going on for years. One of those arrangements you can’t suddenly end without hurting feelings.’

‘Have you met her?’

‘Wouldn’t want to. A right little Mary Poppins, by the sound of her.’

‘So what time are we meeting Rick?’

Gemma looked her watch. ‘About an hour. Make your margarita last. We don’t want the embarrassment of getting there first.’

A SHORT taxi ride brought them to the secret venue, a spanking new nightclub on the seafront called Cliffs—and nothing to do with Sir Cliff, Gemma confided. Even so, the people who thronged the entrance didn’t look right. They weren’t straight out of school. They were grown-ups, more like first nighters in the West End than clubbers.

‘First we find my prize stallion,’ Gemma said, ‘and I see him. Over there by the palm tree.’

‘Can that be real?’

‘The palm or Rick? They both look plastic to me.’ Gemma shrieked at her own wit. She meant to enjoy her birthday.

Rick was in a new leather jacket and was carrying a gift bag that was obviously expensive chocs. He knew what the occasion was.

‘Before we go in,’ Gemma announced after they had all kissed, ‘this is my treat, guys. I brought you here and I know what the tab is.’

It was a good thing she warned them, because it cost a ton a head to get in. No wonder the teenagers weren’t there in force.

‘Who’s playing, Madonna?’ Rick said to Jo while Gemma was keying in her PIN number. ‘Did you see the ticket price?’

‘Don’t rock the boat,’ Jo muttered. ‘The birthday girl planned this.’

Inside, the smell of fresh paint competed with the perfumes worn by the clubbers. Complimentary cocktails were being handed out by gorgeous creatures wearing peacock feathers and little else. The heavy beat of retro rock music beckoned from across the carpeted foyer.

Jo noticed some of the new arrivals being taken aside to a sales area where hip clothes and shoes were on offer. It seemed there was a dress code for the men. Suits and chinos were out, designer drainpipes and T-shirts
de rigeur
. The girls were treated more indulgently. Gemma had been right about smart casual. The skinny jeans did nicely, and it was only right that the birthday girl had the party frock.

They collected drinks and moved inside, where a DJ was emoting about the acts in prospect, including a stand-up comic. Basically, the dance area was dark and huge, even the lighting upmarket compared to clubs Jo had seen before. A guitar band started playing and with a whoop of joy Gemma grabbed Rick and Jo and drew them into the fray. The tempo was just right for this early stage of the evening.

After two numbers Jo was ready to sit one out, except that seating was not a feature of Cliffs. Rick and Gemma joined her at the ledge where they had stowed their drinks. Bangers and mash and some kind of risotto were now being handed out by the peacocks, all included in the cover price. Rick took a large plateful, and the girls regretted the pizza they’d had.

‘I didn’t know this place existed,’ Jo said.

‘You like it?’

‘Love it. For a special night out it’s ideal. Wicked. Jongleurs will never seem the same.’

‘Slick marketing,’ Rick said in his man-about-town voice. ‘People of our age are going to go for this, and we have the money to splash out—well, Gemma does. But have you noticed the sprinkling of under-twenties, all bright-eyed and beautiful? I wouldn’t mind betting they’re on complimentary tickets.’

‘To glam up the ambience? You could be right.’

‘I bet they’re models on ten times our salary,’ Gemma said.