The Headhunters (7 page)

People, Jo thought. The ones who are most fun are the least reliable.

The walk brought her past the club to the southern extreme of the Mill Pond where the road became the top of a harbour wall. She would head back on the side opposite the house, where she could safely watch any developments while seeming to admire the scenery.

She now had a view of the sea, the marshy inlet between the islands of Thorney and Hayling. Here, through the narrow Emsworth Channel, waves of invaders had come in times past. It wasn’t beyond imagination to picture a Viking ship approaching on the high tide.

The sea wall curved and she faced inland, with the town as a backdrop. To her right were mud flats with boats beached by the low tide. Across the Mill Pond she didn’t yet have a sight of Fiona’s house. She quickened her pace and crossed the little bridge to the quay where another sailing club, the Emsworth Slipper, occupied the former mill. The road turned past a tea room and a malt house and emerged as Bridgefoot Path. Across the water she could see everything.

A police car had arrived and stopped just ahead of her Panda. It wasn’t flashing its emergency light. This was evidently just a routine enquiry. Two men in uniform were in conversation with Gemma and the hunk of manhood, Francisco. Presently one returned to the patrol car and took something bulky from the boot. It proved to be an enforcer, the miniature battering ram used to gain entry. They swung it only once. The door sprang open and the police went inside.

On her side of the water, Jo found a bench and sat down to watch. From this distance no one could connect her with what was going on. Gemma was still outside, chatting with her new friend Francisco. Jo expected the police would soon emerge and confirm that Fiona and her son were not inside, an anticlimax everyone ought to welcome.

Activities on this side of the Mill Pond went on regardless of what was happening across the water. Two teenage boys were fishing near the malt house. To Jo’s right, a mother and toddler were throwing bread to the swans and finding that the gulls swooped in and took most of it.

The police emerged from Fiona’s door. One was using his personal radio. The other said something to Gemma. There was no apparent excitement about what they’d found inside. Some time was spent making the door secure again and then they got in their car and drove off.

Jo got up and resumed her walk towards the little bridge at the top end. In under ten minutes she was across and back to where she’d left her car. Francisco had gone back inside his house and Gemma was waving to her, incapable of keeping a low profile.

‘Hi, poppet. Mission accomplished. No rotting bodies inside, I’m glad to report. They’re going to check with her ex and see if the boy is with him. They listened to the answerphone and picked up my messages, so our master plan worked beautifully.’

‘Let’s be off, then.’

‘No hurry. If we stick around I’m thinking Francisco might offer us a cuppa. The phone inside his house started ringing, so he left me here.’

‘Gemma, I’m not supposed to be here.’

‘Doesn’t matter any more, does it? The fuzz have gone. He’s not just muscle. He’s got personality in buckets. I don’t know what aftershave he uses, but it’s turned me into a tart.’

‘Look, I only agreed to do this if you kept me out of it.’

Gemma folded her arms. ‘What is it with you, Jo? Are you on their most wanted list?’

‘I found the dead woman on Selsey beach. Remember? They made me feel like a suspect. It was horrible.’

‘Chill. I keep telling you, they’ve done their job and gone. Francisco won’t blab when I tell him you’re my best friend.’

Jo let out a sharp, angry breath. ‘You don’t get it, do you? The whole point is that you’re not supposed to have brought a friend. Listen, I’m out of here. It’s up to you if you want a lift.’ She turned and walked towards the car. This was no empty gesture. When she started the motor she would be off.

Behind her, Gemma shouted, ‘I fancy the guy. Since when has that been a crime? I’m not a fucking nun, you know.’

And that’s an oxymoron if ever I heard one, Jo thought. She didn’t turn her head. She unlocked, got inside and then realised there was a hitch. The car was facing south and the way home was north. A three-point turn in that narrow road was an invitation to reverse into the Mill Pond. Instead of making a speedy getaway she would have to pass Gemma and find a turning point at the end where the sailing club was.

So be it, she thought. She switched on and moved off.

Gemma was in the middle of the road, waving her arms like ground crew showing a jumbo where to taxi. No way could the car get past without running her over.

Jo braked.

Gemma came to the side and jerked open the door. ‘All right, I’ve reconsidered. Give me a lift and I’ll take my vows. Promise.’

Jo gave a rasping sigh. At this minute the humour didn’t appeal.

Gemma got in and they drove on. But they hadn’t gone thirty yards when she said, ‘Bloody hell. Stop the car.’

‘For Christ’s sake.’ Jo glanced in the mirror, fully expecting to see Francisco outside his house again. He was not. ‘What’s up now?’

‘In the water.’ Something was definitely amiss. There was urgency, if not panic, in the voice.

Jo braked and turned her head to see. Not a duck was swimming there. The only thing worthy of comment was what she took to be a clump of seaweed close to the surface, its reddish-brown tentacles shifting gently with the water’s slight movement.

‘I’ve got to check.’ Gemma flung open the door and ran to the edge.

‘Check what?’ Jo switched off the engine and joined her.

From the bank she saw what had shocked Gemma. They weren’t looking at seaweed. The tentacles were fronds of reddish hair. Just visible at a lower level in the murky water was the rest of the corpse, face-down and dressed in a black top and jeans.

seven

‘ IS THAT FIONA? ’ Jo asked, thinking as she spoke that it was not the brightest question considering that the body was face-down. But when your legs are shaking and your last meal wants to make a comeback, you’re not best placed to offer an intelligent remark.

‘She’s got red hair,’ Gemma said.

‘I can see that.’

‘I mean Fiona’s a redhead.’

‘That does narrow it down.’

‘This is where she lives and she hasn’t been seen for nearly a week.’

‘Not much doubt, then. Dreadful.’

‘Gets me right here—in the gizzard.’

Jo happened to know that a gizzard isn’t part of the human anatomy, but she let it pass. In her unique fashion Gemma was paying respect. She let a few seconds go by before raising the next obvious question. ‘What happened, do you think?’

‘Accident?’

‘Must have been.’ She was quick in her response, too quick to carry conviction. Faced with a shock like this the normal impulse is to look for the least upsetting explanation.

Gemma said in support, ‘It’s a risk she took, living so close to the water.’

‘I guess.’

Neither of them spoke while they continued to gaze down at the figure submerged in front of them. Both must have sensed that there was more to this than Fiona’s choice of where to live.

When Gemma broke the silence she was clearly making a bigger effort to convince herself. ‘I feel sure it was an accident.’ Nodding as if someone else had spoken and she agreed, she put her imagination to work again. ‘She could have had a few too many, stepped outside for some fresh air and fallen in. Or she may have come home in the dark and missed her footing. Hit her head and knocked herself out. So easy to see how it could happen.’

Jo said nothing.

‘I feel such a cow,’ Gemma added. ‘All the mean things I’ve been saying about her. Jo, what are we going to do?’

This was the moment to make one thing clear. ‘Not so much of the “we.”’

‘What?’

‘I’m staying out of this.’

Gemma turned to look at her. ‘How do you mean?’

‘I found one body already. That’s enough to be going on with.’

‘But if I report it, what are they going to think?’ Gemma said in a panicky voice. ‘Suppose they get the idea someone pushed her in? I’ve got a clear motive. She’s known to me. She was a threat to my job.’

‘That’s a fact.’

As if she’d won the point, Gemma said, ‘But you haven’t even met her. You can call the police and they’ll accept it for what it is, a chance discovery.’

Jo wasn’t swallowing that. ‘What—and tell them I was here all the time when they checked the house? Tell them I left my work and drove you here? Does that sound like a chance discovery? To the police it’s going to smell like a set-up. I’m sorry, but I’m not doing it, Gem. After going through Saturday’s line-up, I’ve done more than my share of public duty.’

‘Line-up?’

‘The ID parade.’

Gemma frowned. ‘You didn’t say anything about an ID parade.’

‘Didn’t I? I was trying to forget, standing in front of strange blokes and being expected to pick one of them out.’

‘What for?’

‘The murder of the woman at Selsey. I’m supposed to be a witness. They think I could have seen the killer when I was walking along the beach.’

‘And did you? Did you spot him?’

‘Of course not. Look, this isn’t helping us now. We’ve found a body. I don’t want to report it and neither do you.’

Their presence on the bank and facing the water was starting to attract the swans. Some were swimming across from the opposite side expecting to be fed.

‘We can’t leave her here,’ Gemma said. ‘How would you like that if it was you?’

‘I wouldn’t know anything about it. I’d be dead.’ Jo took a deep breath and made an effort to sound calm. ‘I think we should get back in the car and drive off. Someone else is going to find her soon. People are always walking round this place. I’m surprised she wasn’t found already.’

‘You don’t know how long she’s been in the water.’

‘Agreed.’

‘It could have happened this afternoon.’

‘Even more reason why we don’t want anything to do with it.’

Then Gemma came up with her most stupid suggestion yet. ‘I could tell Francisco and ask him to call the police and leave us out of it.’

‘That’s dumb. You don’t even know him that well.’

‘He’s really helpful.’

‘Have you thought why? He could have done it.’

‘Francisco?’ Gemma pulled an appalled expression.

‘He’s the neighbour. He was on the spot. We don’t know if he had a relationship with her, or if he wanted one and was given the elbow.’

‘You’re making this up.’

Rich, coming from the queen of make-believe.

‘I’m trying to make you see sense. It’s stupid asking Francisco or anyone else to report what we found. It throws suspicion on us. He’ll think we’re hiding something. He could get the idea we killed her.’

‘I don’t buy this, Jo. I don’t buy it at all.’

‘But you don’t want to get involved, right?’

‘Only because it would look so bad for me.’

‘Me, too.’

The first swans arrived and glided between the body and the bank, ignoring the grim presence of death, intent only on getting fed. Others were converging fast.

Jo said, ‘Do you want out, or are we staying here in full view of all the curtain-twitchers?’

Without more being said, they turned from the scene and walked briskly back to the car. Jo started up and drove the short distance to the turning point at the sailing club. They were soon back on the A259 heading for Chichester.

Conscience was a third passenger sitting between them.

‘What about your boss?’ Jo said, trying to shake off the guilt. ‘Where does he fit into this?’

‘Mr Cartwright?’

‘He was last seen going off with Fiona on Friday and he hasn’t been at work since. Don’t you think he might have something to do with it?’

Gemma took a sharp breath. ‘Wow! You’re way ahead of me.’

For once, Jo was, and it gave satisfaction. ‘He’s the one with questions to answer, isn’t he?’

The accident theory slipped out of the reckoning and Gemma was only too ready to speculate. ‘Maybe she overplayed her hand with him and demanded too much, like . . . like a share of the firm’s profits. He wasn’t having it and got rid of her.’

‘Is he the violent type?’

‘I’ve never thought of him like that.’

‘I know. You said he was nice, but there’s obviously a selfish side to him. Even the so-called nice ones have a snapping point.’

‘Dead right. All his schmoozing never impressed me. I’ve often wondered what would happen if push came to shove.’

‘Ho-hum.’

‘It’s an expression.’

‘I know. Fiona got the push.’

‘Don’t! I’m starting to believe this. Where is he now?’

‘Gone abroad, I should think.’ For a change it was Jo who embroidered the theory. ‘He’d want to put some distance between himself and the crime. He knows she’ll be found in the Mill Pond and he’ll hope it’s seen as an accident, something like we assumed when we saw her. He’ll have kidded himself nobody knows about the affair with her.’

‘He’s wrong about that.’

‘Yes, but we’re not saying anything yet.’ She was surprising herself by finding extra strength while Gemma’s confidence ebbed. ‘Let’s see how this pans out. Soon enough you’ll have the fuzz crawling all over your office. When they start asking questions that’s the time to let them know what you noticed. Not before. Don’t volunteer anything.’

‘You’re bloody good in a crisis.’

‘Trying to be sensible, that’s all. Do you want me to drop you at the print works?’

‘I need a drink to steady me.’

‘All right. Let’s find a quiet pub.’

They called at the Cricketers on the Chichester Road and had the public bar all to themselves. Gemma ordered a gin and tonic. Jo was content with a lemonade and lime. She wanted to think straight.

‘Are you still seeing Rick?’

‘On and off. Well, yes, actually,’ Gemma said.

‘It wouldn’t be such a good idea to tell him—or anyone else— about this afternoon. Let’s have a pact, shall we? What we saw in the Mill Pond is strictly between ourselves.’

‘It didn’t happen,’ Gemma said. ‘Erased, deleted, wiped.’ She took a gulp of her gin and tonic as if to speed the process. ‘Have you been out with Jake yet?’

‘I had a drink with him Saturday night.’

‘I don’t get it—you and him. You’re poles apart.’

‘Attraction of opposites.’

‘If you say so.’ Gemma rotated the lemon and ice in her drink. ‘Not like Rick and me. We’re two of a kind, really. Funny.’

‘What is?’

‘Remember when the four of us were talking in Chicago Rock about my boss, dreaming up ways to get rid of him? The Headhunters. Wasn’t it Rick who suggested the best way was to get him a life sentence?’

‘No,’ Jo said. ‘It was you.’

‘Me?’

‘Rick was going on about gruesome methods of making people disappear altogether.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘The idea of stitching up Mr Cartwright was yours. You thought of it in Starbucks. There were just the two of us. I distinctly remember you saying it.’

Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘With a memory like that, you should be on
Mastermind
. And now you’ve said it, I can remember something else. It was you who said we’d need a body to get a conviction.’

Jo cast her thoughts back. ‘True. And now we’ve got one.’

‘Weird.’

‘Bit of a coincidence, certainly.’

‘I’d say it’s creepy. The stitch-up could really happen if Mr Cartwright gets pulled in for murdering Fiona. He could be banged up for life.’ Her mouth curved upward. ‘I’ll be leading the cheers.’

‘Hold on,’ Jo said. ‘You’re racing ahead again. We don’t have any reason to think she was murdered. I thought we decided it was an accident.’

‘We talked in the car about him pushing her in.’

‘We were both feeling guilty for not going to the police. It was a relief to throw suspicion on someone else.’

Gemma frowned. ‘You’ve changed your mind already?’

‘We should take a more balanced view now.’

‘Accident?’

‘Unless someone proves us wrong.’

‘They’ll do a post mortem, won’t they?’

‘Sure to.’

Gemma gave a wicked smile. ‘And you’re going to look pretty damn silly when they find the mark where the poisoned arrow went in. Did I tell you my boss took a cruise up the Amazon last year and met one of those tribes who use curare for hunting?’

‘You didn’t, and I don’t believe a word of it.’

‘He’s also a Russian spy.’

Jo laughed. ‘Working at the printers’ in Fishbourne? I don’t think so.’

‘All will be revealed.’

‘I can’t wait. That drink must be doing you good. You’re sounding more like the Gemma I know.’

‘Permanently pissed?’

‘Nicely relaxed.’

‘I did panic a bit, seeing the body. First time for me. You’re more experienced.’

‘By a few days only. I don’t intend to make a habit of it.’

‘Do they know who she was—the dead woman on the beach?’

‘If they do, they haven’t told me.’

‘What if there’s a link with Fiona?’

‘It would be surprising.’ Time to draw the line, she thought. ‘Gemma, this isn’t getting us anywhere. We ought to stop speculating and get back to normality.’

‘Coffee in Starbucks on Saturday?’

‘Good suggestion.’

They drank up and returned to the car.

JO DIDN’T have much confidence in Gemma. She’d soon be chirping like a sparrow to Rick about the body in the Mill Pond. She might even tell all to the police if they arrived at the print works. There were people constitutionally incapable of keeping anything to themselves and Gemma was a prime example. The best hope was that this death would be treated by the police as an accident and dealt with by those constables in uniform who searched the house. Not CID. Please God, not Hen Mallin.

After dropping Gemma in town she drove home, trying to put the best spin on what had happened, but getting increasingly anxious. She took a lasagne from the freezer and popped it in the microwave before listening to her messages. Her mother was home from hospital and asking her to visit. Someone from a call centre wanted to know if she was satisfied with her electricity bill. The bank needed her to call in about some query on her account. The overdraft, no doubt. It didn’t seem to matter so much any more.

Nothing from Jake. She’d hoped to hear from him. A whole weekend was coming up and they hadn’t fixed to meet. She didn’t like doing all the chasing.

Nothing, either, praise be, from DCI Mallin about the dead woman at Selsey. Was it too much to hope she’d found other people to question?

She transferred the lasagne to the cooker to crisp up the top. Then she pressed one of the preset numbers on the phone.

‘Mummy?’

The voice that answered was steeped in self-pity. ‘Is that you, Josephine? Good of you to call at last. I’m home now.’

‘That’s why I’m phoning. I got your message.’

‘The standard of care in that hospital was nil. They push you out as soon as they can.’

‘I thought you couldn’t wait to leave.’

‘That isn’t the point. I’m not fit to cope and your father’s a dead loss, as you know. Shall I see you this weekend?’

‘Mummy, it’s the worst possible time. They want me in at work and I’ve got all the chores to catch up on. I’ve had one hell of a week. Can we leave it that if I do find a space I’ll let you know?’

The disapproval would not have disgraced Lady Bracknell. ‘Find a space? Is that how you think of me? If you’ve got more important things to do don’t trouble yourself.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘I’ll survive, no doubt. The migraine attacks will calm down eventually, they told me. Meanwhile I can’t do a thing. Can’t sleep, can’t relax. Watching television is out of the question. What were you doing at Selsey, anyway?’

‘You heard about that?’

‘It was on the front page of the paper. I couldn’t miss it. They got your age wrong, of course. If they’d come to me I could have put them right. I see that they’re still trying to identify the dead woman. You’d think they’d know by now.’