The Siren (36 page)

She stiffened, and he thought he discerned a slight hardening in her expression. She said nothing, however, just spent what seemed like several minutes staring directly into his face. It felt
like she was trying to read something deeper into his words, maybe to find a hidden truth lurking behind them or decide whether he was bluffing. Then she turned to look at Riley again and, without
warning, her eyes welled with tears. ‘I don’t know anything about children,’ she said finally. ‘I thought two-year-olds were still babies. I’m sure they are in many
ways, but when I first saw Riley he seemed terrified. Craig did that too.’

Riley was holding two Mega Bloks, one in each hand, but wasn’t attempting to construct anything, just gripping them like two batons. Goodhew knew nothing about children either, but
understood that this was a small but symbolic marking of territory.

She shook her head. ‘This is going to stay with him always, even if he doesn’t remember what happened. He’s learnt more than he should know at his age, hasn’t
he?’

‘Probably,’ Goodhew conceded. He had no idea what children might learn in the years before they could articulate properly or reason fully, nevertheless he held the belief that some
babies were born with character traits and knowledge already hard-wired into their brains. And, whatever else had happened, Riley was still Kimberly’s son. Then he added, ‘but I believe
he’ll be OK, especially once he’s reunited with his mum.’

Tamsin pressed the back of an index finger to each eye, pushing back the tears. Her voice sounded thick with emotion: ‘I can see that.’

‘Tell me how you feel about Kimberly.’

‘In what way?’

‘She was your brother’s girlfriend right up to the time of his disappearance, so it would have been natural for you to stay in touch with her once she returned to England,
wouldn’t it?’

The threat of tears vanished so fast that he wondered if there had been any genuine emotion behind them. The hard edge now returned to her voice. ‘Nick’s girlfriends were
his
business, some I liked, some I didn’t. Kimberly lasted longer than most and, yes, we rubbed along well enough for a while. When she and Rachel first started work at the Rita Club, they both
attracted plenty of attention, but they kept their work and partying quite separate. I assumed she’d be just another of Nick’s one-week wonders, but it wasn’t that long before she
moved in with him. I doubt he’d suddenly discovered monogamy, but she hadn’t either.’

‘Meaning?’

‘There was something about her that made me always suspect she was seeing other men.’

‘Based on what?’

Tamsin grunted. ‘You’re a man, so you won’t get it.’

‘Try me.’

‘She looks like that in the way she moves,’ Tamsin curled up her nose, ‘in her body language.’

‘Because she’s very attractive?’

‘Right.’ Tamsin waved away this observation. ‘Put it this way, I wouldn’t ever trust her around any boyfriend of mine.’

‘I see, but apart from that suspicion you don’t actually know that she was unfaithful to your brother?’

‘She screwed her ex, isn’t that enough?’

‘Nick told you?’

‘No, I could see what was going on, and I told him.’

‘And how did he react?’

‘Thrilled, how do you think? Probably would’ve beaten the crap out of her if he hadn’t disappeared first. And I, for one, wouldn’t have blamed him.’

‘Wow, that’s a really enlightened attitude to relationships.’

‘It’s
my
attitude, full stop. Why the fuck would I treat other people’s relationships differently?’

Goodhew leant back in his chair.

He ran his finger tips along the plastic trim running round the edge of the table. Something flat and sharp had been used to gouge it, leaving it feeling gnawed. A little further to his right
the moulding had been broken off, leaving a two-inch gap that exposed the chip-board cross-section of the table top. He would have guessed that, under its bland grey veneer, there was nothing more
substantial in its construction than the compressed wood shavings, just as he would have assumed the missing piece of moulding had been identical to the surviving section.

Maybe it had been once, but another maybe was that it was so chewed and damaged by the time it broke away that it had been barely recognizable.

‘So,’ he said, ‘you’ve known Craig since you were very young?’

She nodded.

‘Has he always worked for your father?’

‘For as long as I can remember, and he also moved out to Spain when we did.’

‘What reason did he give you for borrowing your car?’

She shrugged. ‘Said he needed it urgently. It’s hired through the Celeste’s business account, so there’s no reason he shouldn’t use it, I guess.’

‘And you trusted him?’

Again she nodded.

‘Until when?’

She looked puzzled. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t . . .’

Goodhew rewound. ‘You didn’t keep in touch with Kimberly when she left Spain? You didn’t know she was pregnant, never mind giving birth, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘So learning that Nick has a son – that you therefore have a nephew – comes as a shock to you?’

‘Of course.’

‘But the family resemblance is unmissable, and as soon as you took a good look at Riley you would have known. And then you would have realized that Craig would have known too.’

She leant back in her chair then, mirroring his posture. She, however, didn’t fiddle with the edge of the table; instead she steepled her fingers and seemed to be using their apex as a
gunsight. Her expression suggested she was capable of doing damage with a single shot.

‘Tamsin,’ he kept his tone even, using the words alone to prod her along, ‘for over two years he’s been keeping that knowledge from you, denying you information that
could have helped your family at the time they were dealing with the loss of their only son.’

She didn’t react.

‘He was harbouring a grudge for that entire time.’

‘Not possible.’

‘What if it is, though? What’s his motive, then?’

Her gaze fell on to the desktop and seemed to settle on the cluster of mug stains just in front of her left elbow. She seemed as absorbed by them as he’d been by the damage on his side of
the table.

He waited.

Her thoughts stretched out until he knew she was no longer even in the room. He waited some more, wondering where they had taken her, wondering whether she had a more vulnerable side to her
nature, and whether she was prepared to visit it even on behalf of her brother.

Then, with nothing more than a quick double blink, she was back with him in the room. She mumbled something he didn’t catch, the word or words blocked by her hands in front of her face.
When he didn’t reply, she slapped her hands, palms down, on to the table. ‘I said “Money”. Craig’s been loyal to my dad but there’s always been money involved
too. And money’s behind everything – it always is. After Nick went missing, we found a gaping hole in the accounts.’

‘I read that in our notes, about three hundred thousand euros.’

‘At least, but could be much more. If Nick had done a runner, he would have taken some cash. That was a possibility, he loved our family but not the responsibility of the club, and
he’d taken off for a month or two in the past. But when his car was recovered and there was no sign of the money, it made me wonder . . .’

‘What exactly?’

‘Nick was sharp, and that much money would have taken months to siphon out of the club, so there wasn’t much chance that he didn’t know about it. I thought maybe he’d
blown it on something, feeding a gambling habit – or drugs, maybe. He’d dabbled with both. But, even when we found out he’d been murdered, I never considered it was about that
money.’

‘And now?’

‘I don’t understand, why would Craig hurt Stefan and Rachel? And Nick was supposed to be his friend. But if I had to think of one motivation, I can see that money might be
it.’

Her voice trailed off and was overtaken by the dour three-note ring tone sounding from Marks’ mobile. A few seconds later he called Goodhew over.

‘We’ve now found a key holder for the Celeste. I’ve asked Charles to come and take the statement from Tamsin Lewton. I want you to come with me.’

FORTY-SEVEN

It took just five minutes to reach the Celeste. Marks parked on the pavement nearest the club, then he and Goodhew walked side by side down Market Passage. The doors were
unlocked but the building was quiet. A lone bouncer came to the top of the stairs as they were halfway up. Goodhew recognized him as one of the body-pierced doormen he’d seen on his previous
visit.

‘You the police then?’ he demanded.

‘Cambridge CID. We’re looking for Craig Tennison.’

‘Rob,’ he introduced himself, shaking hands with both of them. ‘Not in yet. Ironic’ – he said it as if ‘I’ and ‘ronic’ were two separate
words, ‘I-ronic, the one day he’s late is the day you lot decide you need to come in. I wasn’t due here for another couple of hours.’

So Rob clearly hadn’t been anywhere near a TV or radio for the last few hours.

‘When would you be expecting him?’ Marks asked.

‘Any minute – he’s usually in by now. Is there anything I can help with? And if Craig don’t show up, the boss’ll be here in a bit.’

Goodhew blinked. ‘Dougie Lewton?’

‘Yeah, coming from Spain, flight landing in about two hours. Obviously it’ll take him a bit of time to get through Customs . . .’ his voice trailed off, like he’d already
said enough and couldn’t be bothered to reach the end of the sentence.

Marks adopted his formal voice. ‘Mr Tennison is wanted for questioning in relation to the murder of Rachel Golinski, as well as several other serious offences. We’re currently
searching his home address, but do you know of any other locations that might be of interest to us?’

‘Nope, don’t know a thing about him outside work – except that he spends most of his time here. My missus would kill me if I clocked up the hours he does.’

‘Can you find me Dougie Lewton’s contact details?’

‘I guess.’ He turned back.

‘We won’t be opening tonight, will we?’

Marks shook his head. ‘We have a team coming who will make a thorough search of the building, but right now we’d like to take a look at your CCTV footage for the last twenty-four
hours.’

The doorman raised one studded eyebrow. ‘Yeah, sure. It’s in Craig’s office. I’ll take you through.’ He paused, then added, ‘I’ve worked here three
years, so if there’s anything else you want to know . . .’

‘Thanks,’ Goodhew replied, guessing that Rob was quietly thrilled to be swept up in the drama of a murder investigation.

Like most nightclubs Goodhew had ever visited out of hours, it looked run-down and grubby without the distraction of lights and noise and punters. They followed Rob up to Craig’s key-coded
door, where he punched in five digits and waited for the click of the locks releasing. There was no sound, however, but he pushed at the door in any case, before trying the same number two more
times. ‘That’s a bit odd,’ he muttered, and ran his eyes around the door frame, as though he expected to find the answer there.

‘Can it be overridden?’ Marks asked.

Rob shrugged. ‘I guess. You want me to try?’

‘As quickly as possible, please.’

Rob shrugged again, stepped back, then with a single kick sent a foot-sized panel of the door flying through into the office on the other side. He reached through the hole and released the lock.
‘That’s called manual override,’ he grinned. His expression transformed as the door swung open. ‘Holy shit,’ he breathed.

Craig Tennison’s body hung from one of the air-con pipes by an extension cable. A chair lay on its back, near his feet. The ceiling had never been high enough to guarantee an instant
death, and in his last moment he had fought against the cable, the first two fingers of his left hand still trapped between the knot and the skin of his neck.

His trousers were urine-soaked and dripping on to the hard floor.

Goodhew stepped forward and checked him for any slim chance of life.

Nothing.

Rob remained silent, his feet anchored but his body swaying ever so slightly. Goodhew persuaded him to go out of the room and sit down somewhere. Rob made it through the doorway, then slid on to
the carpet, slumping heavily against the nearest wall. He glanced back in the direction of Tennison’s office, turned pale and tucked his head between his knees.

A folded note lay on the nearest upright chair. It was handwritten, using a black marker pen, so the ink had bled through to the reverse. Neither of them touched it, but
deciphered what they could through the back of the page.

It’s all gone wrong. There’s nothing left.

There was more, folded out of sight.

‘Suicide?’ Goodhew pondered aloud.

‘Maybe. But I’m not convinced.’

Marks and Goodhew stood side by side, staring silently at the body. Goodhew had no idea what Marks was thinking, but then he rarely did. For his own part, he realized how little they knew about
Craig Tennison. He had no criminal record and, apart from that, they knew nothing of his private life. Maybe Rob the doorman was right, and there wasn’t much for him aside from the Celeste.
Tennison was wearing a club T-shirt at the time he died, having chosen a fit that stretched slightly across his chest and his biceps. Now that his body had slackened, he just looked overweight and
middle-aged, but Goodhew knew this man had possessed the strength and bulk to kick the life out of several victims.

And developing a lethal technique like that hadn’t come overnight. Who knew how many others had fallen victim to his violence in the years preceding his assault on Jay Andrews? Keeping
himself out of suspicion all that time had undoubtedly required ingenuity too.

Marks began making phone calls and Goodhew turned towards the computer. ‘I’d still like to check the security footage.’

Marks scanned the desk. ‘Go ahead.’

The PC was on stand-by, and burst back into life almost immediately. The software controlling the cameras had been left open on the screen, with a separate window for each of the six devices
employed, currently displaying a live feed of key locations around the building. Goodhew clicked on the one labelled
Back Door
, which showed the rear of the Celeste Club and a small yard
with sufficient parking space for two cars.