The Jackal Man (13 page)

‘Yeah, I suppose. I’ll ask him as soon as he turns up. Who’s been murdered? When? How?’

‘I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. How soon can you get here?’

‘Not till lunchtime. It’s an hour’s drive at least.’

Wesley ended the call before Neil could start grumbling about the journey. But he knew he’d be there, no problem. He only
hoped his tame expert would be as compliant. But most people, in his experience, are only too happy to show off their field
of expertise: everybody likes to feel important.

He suddenly realised that he hadn’t managed to find out anything about the four murders Neil had mentioned to Pam. But, knowing
Neil, they were probably way in the distant past and he had other things to worry about.

He had just picked up the Anubis figure again when Gerry Heffernan appeared at the incident room door. He had been upstairs
to give Chief Superintendent Nutter an update. He didn’t look pleased but then he rarely did after a meeting with Nutter.

‘Have you heard how Rach got on with the victim’s mate?’ Gerry asked, making for Wesley’s desk.

Wesley shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ He touched the bag and the little jackal-headed god shifted in his plastic shroud. ‘I’ve
been in touch with Neil. He’s bringing an expert in Egyptology down later to have a look at this statue found on the body.’

‘Are you going to mention the linen sheet and the …’ He hesitated. ‘The mutilations, because the Nutter thinks we should
keep all that quiet for now.’

‘We’ll have to tell Neil’s expert. I’m sure we’ll be able to rely on his discretion.’

‘I hope so. The last thing we want is a copycat killing.’ Gerry picked a pen up off Wesley’s desk and fidgeted with it for
a few moments before putting it down again. He looked restless, as if his mind was working overtime.

‘Did you ask about the psychological profiler?’

‘I asked and the Nutter said he’s still thinking about it. Let’s go and see Mr Crest. He doesn’t know the bad news yet … unless his wife’s called to tell him.’

‘That’s likely.’

‘Pity. I would have liked to see his reaction.’ There was a long pause and Gerry’s face suddenly became solemn. ‘I’ve sent
Trish to the Hands Across the Sea agency to get the contact details for Analise’s family.’

Wesley sighed. It had to be done.

Neither man felt much like talking as they travelled to Morbay via the shiny new car ferry, larger and more efficient than
the old version, now out of service and anchored upriver awaiting its ultimate fate.

The sky had turned dark grey, promising rain. At this time of year Wesley couldn’t help yearning for the climate of his parents’
native Trinidad but he knew that would change once the better weather arrived bringing with it hordes of visitors, all searching
for the beauty of the place. Once off the ferry, he drove through the country roads until a scattering of DIY warehouses and
car showrooms in huge barn-like buildings, functional and without permanence, told them they had reached the conurbation.
Soon the industrial estates gave way to clusters of brick houses fronted by sparse grass and an array of straggly shrubs,
grime-coated from the main road traffic. Eventually they passed through older,
more substantial, suburbs before arriving in the centre of town with its thick traffic and Byzantine one-way system.

The offices of Darley, Crest and Uglow, Solicitors, were nowhere near the sea which had for centuries been Morbay’s
raison d’être
. They squatted behind the main shopping street and the company’s name was blazoned proudly across the frontage of an unlovely
modern office block.

Clive Crest was in a meeting when they arrived but as soon as they showed their ID to his secretary she buzzed through to
announce their arrival in a strained voice and the man himself appeared almost immediately. As he shook hands he looked worried
– like a man with something to hide.

‘My wife called to tell me the news. Analise was a lovely girl. Full of life. Who could do something like this?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out, sir,’ said Wesley quickly, suddenly wanting to stem the flow of platitudes. Crest led
them into his office and told the secretary that they weren’t to be disturbed. She was a middle-aged woman with a short curly
perm and too much weight around her middle: not the sort who would present much of a threat to Suzie Crest.

As soon as he was settled behind his huge oak desk Clive Crest spread his hands, a gesture of honesty and co-operation. ‘Please,
gentlemen, how can I help? I’ll do anything that will bring this monster to justice.’

‘Where were you and your wife last night?’

‘At home. We always have an evening at home on Analise’s nights off.’ Somehow he sounded too eager to convince them of his
innocence, which made Wesley suspicious from the start.

‘You haven’t asked how she was killed,’ Wesley said, watching the man’s face carefully.

Crest looked a little flustered. ‘Er … I didn’t think. How …?’

‘She was strangled.’ Gerry caught Wesley’s eye. They’d keep it simple for now.

‘Where was she …? Where did it happen?’

‘On the road leading to the castle. Not that far from your house. Did you go out at all last night, sir?’

‘I’ve already told you, Suzie and I stayed in all night.’

‘Not even for ten minutes to take the dog for a walk or …?’

‘We haven’t got a dog, Chief Inspector.’

Wesley saw Gerry give the man a smile that would make a crocodile look amiable. ‘Maybe you wanted a bit of fresh air …
or fancied a stroll.’

‘I didn’t go out and neither did Suzie. Analise went out around eight. She’d told us earlier that she was meeting some friends
for a drink in Tradmouth. We assumed that was where she was going so we didn’t give it a second thought. On her nights off
she’s free to do as she wishes.’

‘Do you know the names of any friends she had in the area?’

‘There was the Norwegian girl, Kristina. She was the only one Analise had ever mentioned by name.’

‘Did you find Analise attractive?’ Gerry asked the question innocently.

‘She was a pretty girl, Chief Inspector. But I assure you there was nothing between us.’ There was something in the man’s
eyes. Lust maybe. Wesley wouldn’t have been surprised if Clive Crest was a bit of a ladies’ man on the quiet … when his
wife wasn’t there to see.

‘Your wife goes out a great deal in the evenings, I believe.’

‘What’s that got to do with …?’

‘It means you were often alone in the house with Analise.’ Gerry gave the man what looked to Wesley like a ‘we’re all men
of the world’ wink. ‘Now you wouldn’t be the first man to be tempted in that situation and you wouldn’t be the last. We really
need to know if you were having a sexual relationship with the dead girl.’

Clive Crest’s face went bright red. ‘I certainly wasn’t having a sexual relationship with Analise and I resent the suggestion.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Crest,’ said Wesley, trying to smooth the waters. ‘It’s just a possibility we have to eliminate. Your wife
said she didn’t know how to contact Analise’s family,’ he continued.

‘The whole thing was arranged through an agency. We used them before last year when Suzie came off maternity leave but the
girl didn’t stay long. Very unreliable.’ He sighed. ‘Analise was a great improvement.’

Wesley allowed a short silence before he asked the next question. ‘Did you know Analise had a boyfriend?’

‘We didn’t interfere in her private life as long as she looked after Alexander properly.’ He paused, as if he’d suddenly remembered
something. ‘I don’t know anything about a boyfriend but I did overhear her talking on her phone one evening. She was talking
quietly as though she didn’t want to be heard.’

‘But you couldn’t resist eavesdropping?’ Gerry said. ‘What did she say?’

‘I’m not in the habit of listening to private conversations, Chief Inspector.’

‘Oh come on, Mr Crest, the lass has been murdered. We’ll be glad of anything you can tell us.’

‘I’m sure she was talking to a man – you could tell from
the way she spoke. I didn’t really hear what she was saying but I think she said the word “dangerous” – although I might
have been mistaken,’ he said, clenching his hands.

‘When was this?’

Crest thought for a moment. ‘Just after Christmas maybe.’

‘Did Analise go home for Christmas?’ Wesley asked.

Clive Crest shook his head. ‘No. She stayed with us. She was here.’

‘Did she go out much over the Christmas period?’

‘A few times. Although I don’t know where she went or who with. She mentioned that her friend in Stoke Beeching had gone back
to Norway but Analise’s parents were dead so …’

‘For someone who’s been living in your house since last autumn you don’t seem to know much about her,’ said Wesley.

‘We don’t pry into the private lives of our employees, Mr Peterson. Rule one – don’t get too involved.’

Wesley’s phone rang and he went into the outer office to answer it. After a short conversation he returned to his seat at
the other side of Crest’s desk.

‘That was one of my colleagues. She’s been talking to Analise’s friend, Kristina.’ He looked Crest in the eye. ‘Analise told
Kristina that you tried to get her into bed.’ He watched the man’s face for signs of guilt and somehow he wasn’t surprised
when Crest started blustering and denying everything. Wesley usually knew a liar when he met one and Clive Crest really wasn’t
very good at evading the truth.

‘It’s possible that your wife might have introduced Analise to an artist,’ Wesley continued, cutting off the flow of embarrassed
protest. ‘Any idea who it might be?’

‘You’ll have to ask my wife. Although I think it unlikely.
Analise didn’t mix with us socially. And I don’t know any artists,’ he added petulantly.

Gerry stood up. They’d learned all they were going to learn from Clive Crest for the moment. Wesley, however, was sure he
was hiding something. And as he was about to leave the office something on the shelves behind Crest’s desk caught his eye.
Amidst a cluster of photographs and sports trophies stood three small painted Egyptian statues, about six inches high. One
was a stately black cat with gold earrings, the other the hawk-headed god Horus, and the third was a thin human figure with
the head of a jackal: Anubis, the god of the dead.

He stopped and pointed to the shelves. ‘Are you interested in Ancient Egypt, Mr Crest?’

Crest appeared to relax a little. ‘Oh, these … they’re holiday souvenirs. We went on a Nile cruise the year before Alexander
was born. Suzie hates the things – won’t have them in the house.’

Wesley smiled and took his leave. At least he agreed with Suzie Crest about something.

Wesley found a message waiting for him back at the office. Neil and his expert had been delayed and they couldn’t make it
till later. Neil didn’t give an explanation, but then he rarely did.

He looked around the incident room. There was an atmosphere of tense industry as officers sifted through paperwork, tapped
on computer keyboards or held phone conversations in hushed voices. He could see Rachel sitting at her desk near the window,
typing furiously into her computer. She looked as though she’d be glad of another trip out and Wesley didn’t really want to
visit Clare Mayers alone.

Ten minutes later they were in the car, heading out of town on the road to Hugford. Clare was still convalescing so she was
bound to be in. And there was something Wesley needed to know.

The hamlet of Hugford, just a few houses clustered around the junction of two country lanes, was shrouded in damp mist. Water
dripped from the bare branches over-hanging the road and the place was silent apart from the barking of dogs and the chug
of a tractor in a nearby field. The barking reminded Wesley that the animal sanctuary – Della’s new enthusiasm – was nearby.
But he had other things on his mind.

He let Rachel ring the doorbell beside a glazed front door with flaking paint that had once been brilliant white. He could
hear a bell echoing inside the small, pink-washed cottage and, after a few moments, Clare herself appeared in the porch, her
hand clutched protectively to her throat.

‘How are you?’ Rachel asked as Clare led them through the narrow hall to the living room.

‘A bit better,’ was the reply, although her voice seemed as hoarse as ever.

The living room was a tip. The coffee table was invisible beneath layers of pizza boxes, stained mugs and celebrity magazines.

‘Is your mum at work?’ Wesley asked gently.

The answer was a nod.

Clare seemed to be on edge and Wesley wondered why. Maybe he’d leave Rachel to have a sisterly word. But first he took a plastic
evidence bag out of his pocket and placed it on the coffee table on top of a well-thumbed copy of
Heat
magazine. ‘Will you have a look at this please, Clare. Is it familiar at all?’

Clare picked up the bag with her finger and thumb as though she feared it might be contaminated. Then her expression changed
from wary curiosity to wide-eyed horror.

‘What’s the matter, Clare?’ he said softly. ‘Have you seen something like it before?’

Clare didn’t answer. She dropped the bag onto the coffee table as though it was a red-hot ember.

‘Is it him, Clare? Does it look like the person who attacked you?’

Suddenly her whole body began to shake and tears cascaded down her face.

My dealings with Sir Frederick had, up till now, been typical of those between master and employee. I had eaten my meals with
the children and kept to the nursery wing with little thought to how Sir Frederick passed his leisure hours.

I was, therefore, surprised when one evening he suggested that I join him for dinner. I have to confess that I found the prospect
a little alarming as I had little in the way of suitable clothing. However, I searched my meagre collection of garments and
selected a green silk dress that I had not worn since I had lived with my aunt and uncle in Oxford. Then I had worn it when
the bishop dined with us – my aunt having chosen it as suitable, modest and not too frivolous. I did not like the dress much
but it was all I had so I put it on and examined my reflection in the cheval mirror that stood in the corner of my room.

I was rather pleased with what I saw. A slender young woman of twenty-three with glossy chestnut hair caught up in a bun.
Tendrils of hair had escaped the hair grips and now they framed my face rather
prettily, I thought, and the green silk dress fitted me rather better than it had done a year before and brought out the
green in my eyes.

As I walked down the great granite staircase to the dining room to join Sir Frederick, I suspected that the warm glow of pride
I felt would probably be short-lived. In my lowly position and not being adept at small talk I was bound to be overwhelmed
by the situation and struck dumb. I approached the dining room door, passing a hurrying servant who didn’t give me a second
glance, and I suddenly realised that John might be present at dinner. What was I to say to the young man who had so belittled
me? As I pushed open the heavy oak door my heart felt cold and I was filled with dread.

I was so relieved to find Sir Frederick alone. He stood up as I entered and the look he gave me was most appreciative. Then
he planted the tenderest of kisses on my hand.

I was hardly aware of what we ate that night for we talked of Egypt and his expeditions. How happy I was to be transported
to that far-off land.