Animal Instinct

by Animal Instinct (retail) (epub)

  ‘Katie?’

  What happened to ‘Ma’am’ or ‘boss’?

  She turned. ‘Two seconds.’

  Her voice had taken on an edge but the man didn’t seem to notice. The thought struck Joe with the force of a fist.

  Did DS Duffy’s first name begin with H?

  Harry?

  Howard?

  Henry?

  ‘SOCOs found an iPhone.’ He was holding out his mobile. ‘Could be the victim’s.’

  Joe clocked Katie’s glare. Signalling her colleague not to discuss the inquiry in front of him. So it was official: he was a civvy, even to his wife.

  Katie took Duffy’s mobile and moved away, talking in hushed tones. The red-haired man extended a handshake.

  ‘I’m the new kid on the block. Just transferred from the Met. Hugh Duffy.’

  Hugh.

  Joe’s stomach gave a lurch. He shook the man’s hand.

  ‘Joe Cassidy.’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ said Duffy.

  Joe watched as he reached into his pocket and took out a pouch of tobacco.

  ‘Smoke?’

  Joe didn’t return the smile. He thought back to the roll-up among the potato peelings in the kitchen bin. Shook his head.

  ‘I’ve given up.’

  In the distance, he heard an elephant trumpeting.

  ‘Sounds like it’s Nelly’s feeding time,’ said Duffy.

  Joe didn’t reply. He glanced at the man’s garish tie. Perhaps Duffy wore garish colours to make himself seem more interesting, the way people with no sense of humour compensated by telling jokes.

  Finishing her call, Katie returned. She handed the mobile to Duffy then caught sight of his pouch of tobacco.

  ‘Seriously? Here?’

  The man shrugged. ‘I thought we were on a break.’

  He put the pouch back in his pocket.

  ‘Give us a minute,’ said Katie.

  Duffy turned to Joe. ‘Good meeting you.’

  He walked down the steps, heading for the avenue of chestnut trees. Katie took her phone from her pocket and tapped a number.

  ‘Luke? Where are you?’ She listened for a moment. ‘I need to check something with you. About Bella Pennefeather. Did you know her?’

  Joe watched his wife’s face as she listened to their son’s reply.

  ‘You’re sure? Dad thought you might have met her.’

  She listened again, locking eyes with Joe.

  ‘No, everything’s fine. Maybe Dad got his wires crossed. See you tonight.’

  She pocketed the phone. Turned to Joe.

  ‘He’s never met Bella. Never heard her name until last night. Never saw her face till you showed him the photo. He was just thrown when I said there was a dead girl and you said she was Elephant Boy’s daughter. Happy?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘Nope.’

  The muscle under Katie’s eye twitched again. She pursed her lips.

  ‘Our son doesn’t have secrets from us. He doesn’t lie.’

  Joe glanced over her shoulder. Hugh Duffy was on the lawn, half hidden behind a tree, smoking his cigarette.

  ‘Everyone lies,’ he said. ‘Everyone has secrets.’

  5

  The elephant house was cordoned off. It was a year since Joe had last encountered the familiar blue and white crime scene tape. The sight made him nostalgic, until he remembered how bad ‘the good old days’ had really been.

  No sign of the elephants. He presumed the herd had been relocated during this phase of the investigation, an assumption confirmed by a burst of trumpeting from an enclosure to the rear of the barn that housed the eles at night.

  Two SOCOs were at work behind the tape. White overalls. Blue overshoes. Joe watched as they navigated the plastic stepping stones that provided an authorized route from the periphery of the crime scene to its centre. On the civilian side of the tape he recognized several uniformed officers talking to the keepers. He caught sight of a former colleague from Canterbury nick, Bryan Messenger, also clad in white overalls. The veteran copper, a handsome, beer-bellied DI in his late-fifties, was deep in conversation with a muscle-bound man in steel-capped work boots. In his early thirties, his tight-fitting T-shirt was emblazoned with the Pennefeather Wildlife logo, a tiger in a tree.

  Tom Lycett, thought Joe. The elephant keeper.

  He sat on a bench, waiting for Messenger to wrap things up. Taking out his mobile, he tapped Luke’s number.

  ‘Hey dude, it’s dude, so do the dudey thing after the beep.’

  Joe winced.

  ‘It’s Dad. Give me a call.’

  Pocketing the phone, he saw Messenger finishing with the ele keeper. He caught the DI’s eye. Nodded a greeting. The man hesitated before ambling over to the bench and sitting down.

  ‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ said Bryan.

  Joe smiled. He and Katie had once laid bets on how many clichés Bryan could cram into a shift. They’d stopped counting when they hit triple figures.

  He shook hands with the DI but Messenger avoided eye contact.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ he said. ‘Things have been… all over the place. Dunno if I’m coming or going.’

  ‘No problem. Thought I’d give you a rest.’

  Messenger returned Joe’s smile, grateful to be let off the hook, then he frowned.

  ‘I thought your missus was SIO on this job.’

  Joe nodded. ‘Her first murder.’

  ‘Right,’ said Messenger, drawing out the single syllable. ‘So you’re here because…?’

  ‘Friend of the family.’

  The man looked impressed. ‘Friends in high places?’

  ‘Adam Pennefeather saved my life when I was fifteen. He stopped an elephant from stamping on my head. Then he asked me to find his daughter. And now I’m trying to find out who killed her.’

  Messenger blew out his cheeks. ‘I bet Katie’s over the moon.’

  ‘I’ve seen her happier,’ said Joe. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t get in your hair.’

  He was tempted to ask about the iPhone the SOCOs had found but knew he’d be pushing his luck. Still – there was no harm in fishing.

  ‘I take it that’s Tom Lycett?’ He gestured towards the gym-fit man heading for the paddock. ‘The one who found Bella?’

  Messenger nodded. No reason not to confirm what Joe already knew.

  ‘He’s animal mad,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t seem bothered there’s a dead girl, just worried about his elephants. Says they’re hypersensitive. Doesn’t want them upset, especially when one of them is “in musth”, whatever that means.’ He spelt the word for Joe’s benefit. ‘M-U-S-T-H, but you don’t pronounce the H, apparently.’

  ‘It means randy,’ said Joe. ‘It makes the males aggressive.’

  Messenger sighed. ‘Sounds like a Saturday night in Dover.’

  The door to the storeroom opened. A third SOCO emerged, a woman in her twenties. She waved Messenger over. He heaved himself to his feet.

  ‘Good seeing you, Joe. No hard feelings, I hope?’

  Joe raised an eyebrow. ‘Meaning?’

  Messenger gave a sheepish shrug. ‘High profile case like this, I fancied it myself till Katie sharp-elbowed her way into pole position.’ He chewed on his lip. ‘Still, maybe you and me can have a beer some time.’

  ‘Look forward to it,’ said Joe.

  He watched his ex-colleague lumber away but found himself unable to leave well alone.

  ‘What’s the new bloke like?’

  Messenger stopped and turned. ‘What new bloke?’

  ‘Duffy,’ said Joe. ‘Hugh, is it?’

  If he’d been hoping to discern something from the man’s response – embarrassment? – he was disappointed. Another shrug.

  ‘Seems OK to me,’ said Messenger. ‘If not, Katie’ll sort him out.’

  He continued on his way. Joe sat still for several moments then followed in the footsteps of the elephant keeper.

  The trees had dou
bled in size since his last visit. The old snack bar had been replaced by a glass-fronted cafe, with tubular steel chairs and tables, and the picnic area had been paved, doubtless to discourage visitors from bringing their own sandwiches and reducing revenue.

  The ele enclosure had changed too, doubling in size, with new steel gates connecting the barns and paddocks to a hilly meadow in which Joe could see the herd: two calves and ten adults. One of the females extended her trunk, wrenching branches from a tree.

  He quickened his pace, catching up with Lycett and calling the keeper’s name. The man turned. Joe caught the flash of his wristwatch. A Rolex.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Joe explained why he was here, watching Lycett’s expression change from polite interest to annoyance.

  ‘How many times do I have to go through this?’ The keeper pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Sorry. It was a long night and the eles need looking after, no matter what else is going on.’

  ‘You’re under no obligation to talk to me,’ said Joe, noting a thin gold chain around the man’s neck. ‘I’m trying to build up a picture of what happened.’ He paused for emphasis. ‘For the family’s sake.’

  The man nodded and took a step forward. Joe found his proximity too close for comfort. Was it intended to be menacing, or was he just one of those people whose sense of spacial awareness is awry? There was a tang of citrus on his skin. Sunscreen? Aftershave?

  ‘How can I help?’ said Lycett.

  ‘Adam says you were the one who found her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Must have been terrible.’

  ‘Bloody awful,’ said Tom. ‘We’re like family: the keepers, the Pennefeathers, the volunteers. It’s not just a job, it’s a way of life.’ Joe nodded. He knew better than to interrupt a man who might let weariness get the better of discretion. ‘And Bella was such a great girl.’

  A catch in the keeper’s voice.

  ‘Did everyone feel that way?’

  Lycett shook his head. ‘She was a Marmite character. You loved her or you hated her.’

  Joe gave half a smile. ‘I expect you can guess my next question.’

  ‘Who hated her?’

  Joe nodded but Lycett was already regretting his choice of words.

  ‘Just a figure of speech,’ he said. ‘She could be arsey, pulling rank with the volunteers and workmen, but no one hated her enough to do that…’

  He tailed off, interrupted by a burst of trumpeting from the largest of the bull elephants. ‘No offence,’ he said, ‘and I’ll do all I can to help, but I’ve told the other bloke all this stuff so if you don’t mind I need to get the eles calmed down.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Joe. He turned to look at the elephants. ‘One had a go at me,’ he said. ‘I was fifteen. Picked me up with his trunk and nearly killed me.’

  ‘Must have been in musth,’ said Lycett, ‘like Plato.’ He gestured towards one of the bulls. Joe caught the telltale glimpse of fluids seeping from the glands around the elephant’s temples. ‘We don’t let people get close enough nowadays. Health and safety.’

  Joe handed the man a card. ‘Just in case.’

  The man nodded then cast a look in the direction of the storeroom. Bryan Messenger was behind the crime scene tape, talking to the female SOCO. Joe thought he heard a word: boots…

  ‘The other bloke didn’t ask where I was on Monday night,’ said Tom. ‘Isn’t that standard? Establishing alibis? Or have I been watching too many box sets?’

  ‘They’ll get around to it,’ said Joe. ‘But since you mention it…?’

  He let the question hang in the air.

  ‘I was with a friend,’ said Tom. ‘It’s all a bit complicated.’

  Joe chose his words with care. ‘When something like this happens, “complications” have a way of coming out of the closet.’

  Lycett held Joe’s gaze, as if trying to read his thoughts. He looked away, frowning.

  ‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ he said. ‘See you around.’

  Joe watched the keeper head towards the herd. He leaned against the fence, pulled out his notebook and recorded his impressions of the man who had found Bella’s body.

  Rolex. Bella ‘like Marmite’. Lycett alibi: ‘with a friend – all a bit complicated’. More than just good friends with Bella? Her lover? But… my gaydar is on red alert – wide of mark?

  Joe was aware of the contradiction in these thoughts but his new status precluded the use of the professional interrogation techniques likely to produce quick results. More out of the loop than ever, he needed to devise fresh strategies and muster new reserves of patience.

  As he headed away, his mobile beeped. A reply from Luke.

  prepping 4 job interview cant talk

  Joe tapped out an answer.

  What job? Fingers crossed. Pint later?

  As always, he was scrupulous about using the correct spelling and punctuation, hoping to lead by example, although he knew better than to hope for much success or count on a reply; Luke had been known to go off the radar for days at a time. Still, Joe was eager to talk to his son. It had to be face to face.

  The sun was high in the sky. Hands in his pockets, he took the dappled path that sloped downwards, winding through woodland. He passed a forested enclosure, home to a colony of moloch gibbons, chattering as they swung from ropes. Reaching a clearing, he saw a giant screen, the sort used at outdoor public events, being erected in front of rows of seating. Above the screen was a sign.

  Panda-cam.

  A crew was at work, three men in Pennefeather T-shirts. Two were hoisting the huge screen onto a wooden stage, while the third, a thin, sallow-faced man, busied himself with a spaghetti of wires and cables.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Joe.

  The skinny electrician looked up from his screwdriver.

  ‘Help you?’

  Help was clearly the last thing on the man’s mind. He was unshaven with tufts of wispy black hair and a wide chin that jutted out, reminding Joe of Desperate Dan. A gold earring caught the sun.

  ‘Joe Cassidy,’ he said. ‘I’m a friend of Adam Pennefeather’s.’

  He extended a handshake the electrician couldn’t ignore.

  ‘Raoul Jonas,’ the man said. He turned to the workmen still wrestling with the giant screen. ‘This is Mikey Simpson and Sam… somebody-or-other.’

  ‘Fisher,’ said the taller of the two. None of the men cracked a smile. Joe bided his time before asking about Bella.

  ‘What’s Panda-cam?’

  ‘It does what it says on the tin,’ said Raoul Jonas, resuming his work with the screwdriver. ‘It’s a satellite link to a zoo in China. Mr Pennefeather did a deal with the Chinks. One of their pandas, Ling-Ling, is due to give birth. People can come and watch a live feed of the cubs’ first six months.’ He finished wiring a plug and inserted it into a bank of sockets. ‘Given what’s happened, I thought they’d shut the place down – at least for a week or so – but the old man was here first thing, bossing us all about. He said you’d be along.’

  Joe took stock of the man’s appearance. Chemotherapy might explain the wispy tufts of hair. His skin was almost yellow, his eyes bloodshot and he could use a shower. Joe couldn’t wait to get away. An allergic reaction. The only redeeming feature was a badge pinned to Jonas’s T-shirt. The more I see of people the more I like my dog.

  ‘What kind of dog?’

  ‘A rescue beagle,’ said Raoul. ‘From a research lab. He died.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll let you get on.’ He turned to go.

  ‘Shame about the girl,’ said Raoul, shaking his head from side to side. ‘With looks like that she could have been a supermodel instead of hiding herself at the arse end of nowhere.’

  An opening. Joe took it. ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  The man downed his screwdriver and rummaged in his toolbox for a roll of gaffer tape. ‘She wasn’t one for a chinwag, was she?’ He turn
ed to his workmates. ‘Not with the likes of us.’

  ‘Don’t mind Raoul,’ said Mikey, jumping down from the stage. ‘At least he’s well balanced. Chip on both shoulders.’

  ‘Funny,’ said the electrician, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He turned back to Joe. ‘I’ve seen you on TV. You’re the one who got those girls killed.’

  Joe felt his face flush with anger. ‘I’m the one who caught the man who murdered the Kinsella sisters,’ he said. ‘Maybe that’s what you’re referring to.’

  Jonas grinned. ‘Papers said you took early retirement. Nice pension?’

  Time to leave. Either that or punch the man in the throat.

  ‘Thanks for your time,’ said Joe, turning to go. ‘Good luck with the Panda-cam.’

  As he walked away he could feel the electrician’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

  6

  Emerging from Pennefeather’s, Joe paused before steering the MGB onto the country lane. He was fuming at Raoul Jonas’s jibe.

  Frustrated by lack of progress.

  Unsettled by the man he was sure was H.

  His craving for a cigarette soared. Maybe he should get nicotine patches, like Liam O’Mara. Tempted to floor the accelerator, to ignore the female reporter in the lay-by, the sight of her trying to deal with her flat tyre got the better of him.

  ‘Need some help?’

  She straightened up. Late thirties. Petite. Green eyes and an aquiline nose at odds with elfin features. She wiped a hand across her forehead, smudging her brow with dirt.

  ‘Am I a hag?’

  An Australian accent.

  Joe frowned. ‘I’d say the opposite.’

  The woman sighed. ‘Thank you. The last four dickheads drove straight past. And they say chivalry is dead.’

  She wore a cream shirt under a black jacket. Her skinny-fit black jeans were tucked into ankle boots. Strands of chestnut hair stuck to her forehead.

  Joe pulled into the lay-by and got out of his car. The Fiat was filthy and covered in dents. Kneeling to remove the hubcap, he saw a large stash of parking tickets on the passenger seat. A dozen, maybe more. The woman crouched at his side. He could smell her perfume.