The Killing Club (16 page)

‘Have you any idea what that boy has been through?’ she demanded of Harriet. ‘What it’s like being in prison for all those years? The suffocation of the spirit, the taking away of all the things ordinary people take for granted. That boy’s mother’s cohabitee used to abuse his mother, and she couldn’t stand up for herself. And eventually he put a stop to her misery by sticking a kitchen knife in the man. A crime to which Craig freely confessed. He was twelve years old at the time. He was in custodial care during the formative years of his young adulthood. He had no proper schooling. No peer friends. No family to love him and take him to the seaside. He was locked away, jeered at and bullied by prison officers. Made to feel he was nothing, of no human worth. And then when he gets out it is to a world completely changed from the one he knew. His mother had disowned him. He has no friends, no family. Considering the deprivation he has suffered, he has done rather well, in my view. And you have sent him away, rejected him, put the fear of God into him.’

Harriet opened her mouth to protest, but Ruth was not to be stopped.

‘How dare you, Harriet?’ Ruth spat at her. ‘How dare you judge me on the way I run my life and what I choose to do? When did I ever make any demands on you? Have I not helped you out when you needed me? Remember the times I dropped everything to travel to your house and look after Jake when he was ill, or listened to you and comforted you when Charles was causing you anxiety. Does all that count for nothing?’ She sat forward, her face flushed with rage and frustration. ‘And how dare you not give me the respect I deserve as a mother? How dare you rampage around my life and spoil things for me?’

By this time the five other women in the ward were completely transfixed by Ruth’s dramatic outburst, listening intently, wanting more.

Harriet was stunned. ‘For goodness sake, Mum, keep your voice down.’ She glanced around the ward, seeing only approval for Ruth’s performance in the other patients’ eyes. Any minute now they would be applauding.

The ward sister came hurrying in and looked at Ruth with concern. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Hartwell?’

Ruth slumped back against the pillows. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I am. But it’s nothing you can help with.’

When the ward sister had left, she turned to Harriet. ‘It’s good of you to come to see me,’ she said formally. ‘I’m feeling tired now, I’d like to rest.’ She crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, leaving Harriet with the problem of wondering what on earth to do next.

Swift and Cat stood outside the
Old School House
, once again waiting for a reply to the tinkle of the bell. They tried it twice. Swift pushed at the door, but it was locked. They spent some time knocking.

‘Let’s have a look round the back.’ Cat suggested.

The house had a narrow flagged path which led around its eastern side to the north-facing back wall. They made their way along, taking care not to slip on the stones which were slippery following the drizzle and damp of the previous days. The back door was of solid pine, with a large window forming its top half. Swift peered through, seeing that the kitchen was empty, except for Ruth Hartwell’s small dog who had heard strangers approaching and leapt up from her basket barking furiously.

Cat turned the brass knob on the door and pushed slightly. ‘It’s not locked,’ she said. ‘What now?’ They looked at each other, having the same thought.

‘What about the dog?’ Cat wondered.

‘She’s OK when Ruth is around,’ Swift said. ‘My guess is that if we seem confident enough she’ll accept us.’

‘On your head be it,’ said Cat.

Swift went in first, speaking softly to the dog as he did so. ‘Here, Tamsin, good girl.’

Tamsin stopped barking and looked at him. ‘Good girl,’ he said again, keeping his voice very calm and reassuring. Tamsin gave a low growl of uncertainty.

‘Hey, Tamsin,’ said Cat, stepping forward. ‘How about a taste of Cadbury’s Flaky Bar.’ She held a chunk of milk chocolate in the flat of her palm and bent down offering it to the dog. Tamsin hesitated. Cautiously she took the chocolate, allowed Cat to pat and stroke her before moving back to her bed and observing the two visitors with alert consideration.

‘Why don’t I have a quick look round, see if I can spot Craig, or anything else of interest?’ Swift volunteered.

‘Sure. I’ll guard the dog,’ said Cat. ‘And field any callers who might turn up.’

As Swift prepared to leave the kitchen the dog jumped up, her hackles rising. Cat stepped in, dug more Cadbury’s Flaky Bar from her pocket and lured the dog to come back to her basket. Sensing that the situation of keeping the dog sweet was of some importance, Cat sat down on the floor and talked to the animal whilst she surveyed the kitchen. There was nothing of immediate interest on the table or the tired-looking kitchen units. She decided to leave the drawers and cupboards until Swift came back.

‘Hey, there, girl,’ she told the dog. ‘I’ll bet you’d be a useful informant about a few things if you could only talk.’ The dog put her ears back and gave some indications of approving of the new visitor. Cat put out a hand to stroke her again. She noticed the plastic laundry holder on the floor a few yards away. There were items of underwear, some towels and dishcloths piled in it. The tip of a large white envelope poked through the plastic mesh at the bottom of the holder. Keeping one hand gently stroking the dog she reached out the other and pulled the envelope out of the holder. The flap was not sealed and as she pulled the envelope towards her a pile of photographs slithered out.

‘What have we here?’ she asked the dog, gently removing her caressing hand, so as to have two pairs of fingers in order to scoop up the shiny sheets from the floor. She had a quick glance through, stopping to stare more closely at the pictures of the lap-dancers and their audience. ‘Well, well!’

She called out to Swift as she heard him coming down the stairs. ‘Anyone at home?’

He came through the kitchen doors. ‘Well, if there is, they’re very well hidden.’

‘No big-boy Craig?’

‘Nope.’ He looked down at her hands. ‘Anything of interest there?’

‘Photographs. Could they be the ones Mrs Hartwell’s unwelcome visitor was after?’ She handed them to Swift who had a rifle through.

‘I’d say the child photographs are of a young Christian Hartwell. As for the shots in the night club—’

‘Good-looking girls, aren’t they?’ Cat suggested.

‘Certainly are.’ He handed Cat a photograph of one of the men who was ogling the half-naked girls. ‘And that guy is our friend Charles Brunswick.’

‘Have we struck gold?’

The dog suddenly cocked her head and jumped out of her basket. At the same time there was the sound of a key in the lock of the front door. Swift and Cat glanced at each other.

‘Caught in the act,’ Swift said wryly. He got up and took out his warrant card.

A tall thin woman in her fifties was coming down the hallway. Swift stepped forward. ‘Police!’ he said, calmly. ‘Nothing to be alarmed about.’

The woman drew in a sharp breath. ‘Oh, heavens! You gave me such a shock.’

Swift apologized and introduced himself and Cat. ‘And you are?’

‘Cassandra Mortimer. I live next door. Ruth phoned me a few minutes ago and asked me to come in and get the dog and look after her until she gets back home.’

‘Right. We’ve been checking on the house to make sure it’s secure,’ Swift said, in response to her doubtful expression.

Cassandra Mortimer looked at the two officers with frowning curiosity. ‘With titles like yours, you must be the organ grinders. I thought they sent the uniform monkeys to do little jobs like securing houses.’

‘That’s often the case,’ Cat admitted.

‘Are you on the Christian Hartwell case?’ the woman asked abruptly.

‘Yes.’

‘Poor Ruth, she doesn’t seem to have much luck. Her surrogate son killed and her daughter a harpy.’ She bent to pat Tamsin who was jumping up at her in welcome. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you in your enquiries. Christian had left home by the time we moved in next door.’ She straightened up. ‘I would like to ask, though, if you could tell me something about this glowering young giant who seems to have appeared on Ruth’s scene. My husband’s bound to ask me when I get back in.’

‘He’s a friend of Ruth’s,’ Swift told her. ‘She used to teach him at one time.’

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed with scepticism. ‘All above board, is it?’

‘Mrs Hartwell told me that she had invited him to stay of her own free will,’ Swift said.

‘Oh well, as long as we don’t have a murderer or a rapist lodging with our next-door neighbour I suppose we should be grateful,’ said the long, tall Cassandra. She looked hard at Cat. ‘Been in a spot of trouble, have you Inspector?’

Cat kept a straight face. ‘You could say so.’

Cassandra picked up Tamsin’s lead, which was hanging over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Come on, little one. You come and stay with me until your mum gets back.’ She turned to the two watching officers. ‘You’ll make sure to lock up when you go, won’t you? Not that Ruth ever bothers. Just drop the latch.’

‘Surely.’ Swift then stopped her in her tracks to the door by asking her if she had seen any other visitors to the house whom she didn’t recognize.

She turned. ‘Sorry, can’t help. I’ve got more things to do than twitch the curtains all day.’ And then she was gone.

Cat looked at Swift. ‘I rather think that puts us in our place.’

‘We’ve been thoroughly Cassandra-ed,’ he agreed, picking up the photographs and slotting them back in the envelope. ‘We’ll take these to the station for safe-keeping. I’ll let Ruth Hartwell know.’ He took a quick last look around and then they left – ensuring, of course, that the latch clicked firmly behind them.

Craig flew out of the hospital, his heart beating so strongly he felt that there were stretched guitar strings twanging in his chest. When he looked around him the sky and the buildings seemed out of focus, blurred and yet dazzling in their brightness. For a few moments he wondered if he was going to be struck down, if this was it, death coming for him. It seemed that he had lost his chance with Ruth now. It was all over. He saw a bus drawing in to the kerb and stumbled on to it.

Swift cleared space on his desk and laid out the photographs which had been lodging in Ruth’s laundry holder. Together, he and Cat embarked on a careful appraisal of each picture.

They placed the older photographs of a young Christian Hartwell and a woman they assumed was his mother together in one pile and the more recent pictures of the nightclub in another.

As they were sorting through, Swift reminded himself that both Ruth and his journalist pal Georgie Tyson had reported that Hartwell was a keen photographer.

‘So, what he’s given to the solicitor falls into two categories, family pictures from the past, and then these recent ones. Presumably, the family photos were taken by Ruth herself, or other members of the family, but the more recent ones by Christian.’

‘I’d think it’s safe to assume he was the photographer,’ Swift commented, ‘and that for some reason he wanted her to have them.’

‘I wonder when the more recent photos were taken?’ Cat wondered.

Swift looked again at the shots taken in the lap-dancing club. ‘Brunswick looks very much as he does now, so I’d guess quite recently. Maybe on Hartwell’s last visit to the capital a couple of weeks ago.’

‘So why did Christian want Ruth to have them, I wonder?’

‘Maybe he just didn’t want them to be found in his flat.’

‘He could have destroyed them, burned them.’

‘Perhaps he was trying to tell Ruth some kind of story, send a message.’

Cat looked through the pile once again. She lifted one photo out on its own looked at it closely.

‘What?’ Swift asked.

‘This guy here,’ she said, tapping the print with the tip of her pencil, indicating a man in the lap-dancer’s audience who had his face partly turned away from the camera. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s Julian Roseborough.’ She handed the picture to Swift. ‘Look.’

Swift took a few moments to register the face and the mane of blond hair. Memory stirred. ‘He was at Jeremy’s birthday gathering.’

‘That’s right. I think they’ve known each other for some years, collaborated on some property development ventures. I’m not really sure exactly when and where they met, but what I can tell you is that Julian is the son and heir of the guy who owns Roseborough Supermarkets – and is reputedly worth zillions.’

‘Impressive credentials.’ Swift smiled at her. ‘You’ve been moving in exalted circles, Cat,’ he said in wry tones.

She grimaced. ‘And look where it’s got me.’

They looked once again through the pictures. ‘And where do these get us?’ Swift wondered.

Craig sat on the bus, his body frozen into stillness, random thoughts scratching at his emotions. He heard Harriet’s voice in his head, her hissing words, ‘What the hell are
you
doing here?’ The words kept on playing – over and over again.

Getting on the bus had been a snap decision. On leaving the hospital, he had had no idea what he should do or where he should go. He had seen the bus draw up at the stop outside the hospital and the decision to get on it seemed to have been made through some mental process he had not been aware of. He was suddenly aware he was mounting the step and then coming face to face with the driver who was doling out tickets. He had run out of change and had given the driver a five-pound note. There had been a prickly little scene when the driver wanted to know where Craig was going and Craig couldn’t think of anywhere.

‘We go as far as Thirsk,’ the driver told him with barely concealed irritation.

‘Right, then, I’ll go there,’ Craig said.

The driver sighed, dug in his leather bag and got out the change. Craig took it and started to lumber down the body of the bus. ‘Hey! Don’t you want your ticket?’ the driver shouted.

Craig flinched at the anger and scorn in the man’s voice. When he was eventually seated, he found himself trembling with humiliation and uncertainty.