‘I just had a feeling about this lot,’ he said. ‘Almost eleven on a Sunday night, and they don’t look like they’re going home from the pub. No Halloween costumes as far as I can tell. The nightclub doesn’t even open on Sundays in the winter, so they’re not heading there. Thought they could be heading for the beach.’ He pressed fast-forward then stopped at another shot. ‘This is from behind the big hotel on the front. See, there’s a tall guy, long black coat, guitar case. Two shorter figures, possibly females, wearing hoods. No attempt to hide their faces, but, to be honest, it’s such poor quality film, they don't need to.’
Dan gave a whistle of appreciation. ‘Sam, that’s not bad at all. Thank you. Maybe it’s not too far-fetched to think we might match these three up with our fire attendees? Or should we call them worshippers? Or cult members?
‘Show it all again. The rest of you, eyes like hawks. What else can you get out of these tapes? Anything, don't be shy. We’ll give it twenty minutes then see what we have.’
For several run-throughs, there was only the muffled slurping of coffee, the occasional ‘stop, rewind’ comment, and the grumbling appendix of the storm above their heads. Dan watched the team work. He watched Foster, who wasn’t glued to the screen like everyone else. Foster was sneaking a look at Lizzie’s notebook, then peering at the screen. I bet he’s short sighted but won’t wear his glasses, Dan thought. He snorted, and buried his face in his mug, swallowing the dregs of his coffee.
‘Okay, enough for now.’ He gestured at Sam to stop the tape. ‘What have we got?’
‘Three young people,’ said Bill Larcombe. ‘But no one looking like he’s the right age to be the victim. This lot look young – going by their walk and stance. Where are the victim and the other two people? That’s assuming every stone round that fire had a bum on it, of course.’
Lizzie asked about the long, dark coats. ‘It’s not some sort of uniform, is it?’
‘Could be – they do look a bit Goth,’ said Sally. ‘I had a coat like that in the early eighties.’
‘You’re suggesting that they might be an organised group?’ asked Dan, scribbling in his notebook.
‘Just a thought, what with the videos.’
Dan indicated to Adam Foster, still standing next to the whiteboard, to write that down. ‘Bill, what did your trawl of the pubs come up with?’
‘Nothing concrete; loads of youngsters were around town on Sunday, some dressed up in Halloween costumes. Impossible task to identify any one group really.’
‘But, what if we’re looking for Moose, possibly well-known to local landlords, and just one other person? A person buying him drinks, and leaving with him at the end of the night?’
‘Sam and I will get onto it straightaway, boss,’ Larcombe said.
‘No, you two stay on CCTV. Sally, will you and Lizzie go down to Exmouth and chat to the landlords, please?
‘Anybody else got anything to say?’
Foster said, ‘I think we need to seriously consider the Halloween angle.’
Dan watched outrage sweep across Lizzie’s face. That’s what he’d been doing – pinching her ideas.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Err … well, because it might have made a gang of teenagers a bit stupid. I mean, what if they were on legal highs and didn’t realise what they were doing, or something?’ he said.
Lizzie closed her notebook and rested her pen on top of it. ‘I had that idea too,’ she said, turning her back on Foster. ‘But my angle is that it could have been organised; not a party gone wrong, but a ritualised killing for Halloween.’
Dan couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face, even though he knew she was deadly serious.
Foster sniggered. ‘Got our own Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’ he said, and raised his eyebrows at Sam across the table. ‘Buffy the tramp burner …’
‘Okay, enough,’ said Dan. ‘We have a boot that belonged to the deceased, and quite a lot of evidence has gone off to the crime lab for DNA testing today. Finally, there was a small torn-off bit of music paper in all the rubbish we picked up, and that may link to the guy with the guitar. That’s not a bad start. I expect to identify the victim within a couple of days. Now let’s see if we can get closer to the perps.
‘A bonfire doesn’t just build itself,’ he continued. ‘People have to collect wood. That takes time, unless there are loads of them doing it, and we think there were only maybe five people there. So, at some point in the day, somebody piled up wood into a bonfire shape. Who?’
‘We could ask dog walkers, boss,’ said Foster. ‘Maybe one of them saw somebody.’
‘Great, get down to the beach and ask. Try mornings and evenings, see if anyone remembers anything unusual.’
Foster jotted a note in his pad. ‘It would only be the walkers who head off down the far end towards Sandy Bay, and only when the tide is out, won’t it? I’d better check the timetables.’ He scribbled away.
Dan sighed, they didn’t have much to go on at all, really. ‘Okay, write up anything useful, and I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He refilled his mug and stared out at the rain, while the team shuffled and bustled behind him.
* * *
His phone rang, interrupting a particularly ropy bit of reporting from the sergeant in Team One. He grinned when he saw the caller ID. ‘Neil, mate! Not heard from you for weeks. How’s it going?’ He listened for a minute or two. ‘You made Professor of Archaeology? That’s amazing. Good on you. Yeah, let’s meet for a drink. Not tonight though, already booked, what about Friday?’ He wrote down the time. ‘I'll see you there, Lord Professor Pargeter. Curry and a pint on you, I reckon.’
Well, he thought as the phone went back into his pocket, Professor Pargeter, now, was it? What elevated circles he moved in. As long as it wasn’t ever going to be Professor Pargeter in the library with the candlestick, it couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke.
11
Apart from a vague feeling that he ought to be out on the streets doing something practical to move the case on, Dan’s afternoon had been productive. He ploughed through his outstanding paperwork and signed off on the Team One case at last, pleasing his sergeants, and updated Superintendent Oliver on where they were so far. He was determined to finish on time, and slipped out of the station at 5.35pm without bumping into anyone who could stop him.
Dan drove the short distance to the quayside and his flat, lost in thought. Was he mad to imagine that there might be a ritual element to the killing? It seemed unlikely that anyone would deliberately set someone on fire as a method of murder: it was inefficient. But not everybody would know that. The public believe fire destroys evidence; reality shows fire leaves a great deal behind. So they were not dealing with professional gangland killings, or a personal attack, it would be too difficult to build a fire and get the victim to attend, never mind getting them into the fire. No, it seemed more likely that all five of the watchers were somehow involved in the victim’s death, that some aspect of order or ritual might be involved. Who on earth could he ask for help on this? It was way out of his experience.
Dan pulled into his parking space and glanced up at his kitchen window. There was a light on in the flat coming through from the living room. He thought about his quick visit the previous evening and was sure he hadn’t left a light on. Odd. He took the stairs two at a time and paused outside his front door. No sign of breaking and entering; the lock looked intact. The only other people who had a key were Claire and his mother. But he was picking up Claire to take her round to his mother’s for dinner, so why would she be here? And who else knew where his mother kept the key? Cautiously, he opened the door into the small hallway. There was music coming from the living room and the heating was on full. Angry now, and sure of his intruder, Dan threw open the living room door and shouted, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Alison?’
His sister shot off the sofa, spilling her drink on the rug. She was white with shock and was shaking. ‘Oh, you frightened me half to death
,’ she said. ‘Dan, it’s not … I wasn’t …’ Her eyes filled up.
‘Don’t do the tears,’ he growled, staring at the growing brown stain on his white rug. ‘They don’t work on me.’ He switched off the music. ‘What are you doing in my flat?’ He stormed into the kitchen, took a cloth from the tray, wet it, and scrubbed the spilled tea from his rug and floor. He didn’t look at her.
Alison stayed where she was.
‘I asked you a question,’ he said, but he went back into the kitchen before she could speak, rinsed out the cloth and took a couple of deep breaths. It was better to be calm, he knew, but she pushed all his buttons just by being alive, never mind by what she did. He put on the kettle and made an instant coffee. The milk was off. He poured it down the drain and added a half-spoon of sugar to his black coffee to disguise the bitterness. Then he went back into the living room and sat on one of the chairs he’d never sat on. He always sat on the sofa, but he didn’t want to now. Finally, he felt able to look at her. ‘Sit down. Tell me what’s going on.’
Alison slid down onto the sofa and clutched her tea between both hands. ‘I didn’t mean any harm, Dan. It’s just … Well, can you imagine what it feels like to be living at home with your parents at thirty-eight years old? It’s awful. I mean they’re kind and well-meaning, but Mum won’t let me do anything useful, and Dad keeps staring at me, waiting for me to start shooting-up in the kitchen or steal the family silver. Or worse, his golf clubs. And today they said you and Claire were coming over for dinner, and would I mind going out for the evening? And, I thought …’
‘You thought I wouldn’t be back tonight, so you’d take over my flat for the evening? Just took the key from the house?’
‘Yeah.’ She slipped the key from her jeans pocket and placed it on the table. ‘I wouldn’t do anything bad. I’m not going to wreck the place or anything. I just haven’t got anywhere to go since I came out of prison. I haven’t got any straight friends, and I’m staying away from the others because I really want it to work this time.’ She tried to catch his eye. ‘I’m clean, Dan. Really, I am. Not touched anything since I was let out in June. That’s nearly six months.’
Dan drank his coffee and wished he had a whisky to go in it. Alison screwed with his head. It was good that she was clean, and he believed she was, now. Her dark hair had a shine to it, her eyes were clear, and she had put on enough weight to pass for attractive again. A small part of him felt sorry for her that she didn’t have any friends, a house or a job. The rest of him knew it was her own fault, caused by her own bad decisions, and he had no responsibility for her whatsoever.
He glared at the coffee table for a minute then allowed a familiar mood of resignation to settle on his shoulders. Here we go again. Blood will out, as they say, and he couldn’t just turn her out into a cold night to wander the streets. If she went back to her old druggie ways he wouldn’t be able to stand it, and neither would his parents. He drank his coffee and let her stew while he thought about it. There was an option that might suit both of them, if he was prepared to take the risk.
‘What if,’ he started, thinking hard. ‘What if I let you move into my flat, rent-free, and you keep the place clean and tidy for me?’
He could barely look at her face as she crumpled into more tears. She put her mug down and sobbed into the bottom edge of her jumper. ‘Really? You mean it? I could stay here?’
Dan located a box of tissues under the table and passed them to her, waiting until she had cleaned herself up before continuing. ‘You would need to stay registered at Mum and Dad’s, as I’m not allowed to sublet this place, but it would give you some independence.’
Alison gulped down breaths. ‘Yes, thank you. Thank you. Oh, my God. I don’t know what else to say.’ More tears flowed. ‘It’s more than I could ever have hoped, to have a place of my own, and not be … you know … ‘
‘Totally off your face?’
She managed a little smile, and rubbed her arms where the marks of her past mocked her. ‘Yeah. Or in a hostel or a B and B.’
‘I want you to look for a job,’ he said. ‘You could do voluntary work at a charity or somewhere, to get a bit of experience, then see what’s available. You still got a social worker?’
‘Yes,’ she came back eagerly. ‘And I get benefits, which means I could travel to work. I can buy food. Make sure you’ve got milk in for when you do come back.’
She stood up, took a deep breath, and went into the bathroom. ‘I just need a minute,’ she said.
Alone, Dan questioned whether or not he had made an enormous mistake. But that was always the case with every decision concerning Alison. The dinner that evening with his parents had been arranged to talk about this very problem. What could they do about her? So, something had been done. For better or worse.
While she was in the bathroom, he pulled out a suitcase and emptied the wardrobe of three suits still in their wrappers from the dry cleaner’s, added a drawerful of underwear and socks, and as many shirts as he would need for a week at Claire’s. He made a space in one half of the wardrobe and gave Alison the empty drawer.
What else? Jeans and T-shirts, his Timberland boots, trainers. He’d have to leave his cycling gear for now. No way all that would fit into Claire’s little house. ‘You’re making a big, big decision, Daniel,’ he muttered, but there was lightness in his heart. Two big decisions.
He looked around the bedroom and wondered if he would ever sleep in there again. He also wondered if Claire and he were really ready to set up home properly. ‘Ah, well, one way to find out,’ he murmured, and selected three ties to match his suits.
Back in the living room, Alison had gathered up the mugs and was standing with her back to the window, waiting for him. She clocked the suitcase and suit carrier and grinned. ‘You really mean it, don’t you?’
‘I do for now,’ he said. ‘Just don't cock it up, all right? Look, come back home around ten tonight, give me time to explain what’s happening to the parents. I’m sure Dad will help you move. I’m in the middle of a murder inquiry, so you’re on your own.’
‘Yes, that’s fine. Whatever you say.’ She stood, awkward suddenly, arms at her sides, but he turned towards the door. They hadn’t reached the hugging stage yet, although he knew that was what was called for. ‘See you later, then,’ he said, and pushed open the door into the hall.
‘Oh, Dan,’ Alison called after him, ‘can I put some cushions on this sofa?’
‘No smoking in the flat, Ali. Use the balcony. All right?’
* * *
Claire stared at him. ‘You’re really going to give the keys to your precious flat to your sister?’ she said, so incredulous that she stopped getting dressed, with only one leg in her jeans.
Dan looked sheepish. ‘I know I said a lot of stuff about her, and it was all true. But she is my sister, and I feel a bit sorry for her, I suppose, especially as she’s making a real effort to straighten herself out.’ He looked up at her. ‘What I haven’t done,’ he said, patting the bed and shifting over for her to sit next to him, ‘what I haven’t done is ask you if it’s all right for me to, you know, move in on a more permanent basis.’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘Can I stay?’
Claire appeared to think about it, which made him nervous.
‘Just teasing,’ she said, ‘I've been wondering if you were ever going to bring it up. I was damned if I was,’ she said. ‘No one’s accusing me of putting pressure on a bloke to commit.’
Was this it? Should he ask her now? Would she marry him if he asked? But the moment passed, and living together seemed to be acceptable to Claire for now, and it wasn’t quite as terrifying as the alternative. So he squeezed her as tightly as he could, and murmured how much he loved her into her hair, which smelt, as usual, of jasmine.
* * *
The meal at the Hellier’s that evening consisted of a roast chicken with roast potatoes and a mountain of veg. His mum’s gravy was the best ever, so Dan made the most of it, and afterwards there was
a trifle that was guaranteed not to contain less than three thousand calories per portion. They washed it down with an Australian Shiraz that Geoff Hellier had received as part of his regular quarterly box from the wine club. Geoff rolled the wine around his mouth and swished it through his teeth, making pretentious noises of appreciation, much to Claire’s amusement and Dan’s despair. Dan picked up a pile of plates and took them into the kitchen.
His mother, Carol, had wept on and off all evening since he had told them about his plan for Alison. She followed him in, clanking dishes onto the worktop. ‘I’m glad I got you alone, darling,’ she said. ‘This means the world to me and your dad, you know, letting Alison stay at your place.’ She took his hands in hers. ‘I know it’s hard, but she is ready to move on, and I’ve been so frightened of her going back to her old ways.’ She turned away and wiped her face.
‘Well, this is Alison we’re talking about – anything could happen. But, for now, it’s a solution. Let’s see how it goes, eh?’ He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. ‘You and dad could do with the house back to yourselves again, too.’
Carol shrugged under his hands. ‘He’s never here,’ she said. ‘Since Alison’s been back, he’s always at the golf club. I’m a golf widow.’
‘Maybe that will change, now.’
‘Doubt it, but I still have a few years to go before I fully retire, so at least I get out of the house three days a week.’
The sound of the front door opening took them back into the dining room. Alison entered and stood in the doorway, in her coat, uncertainty clouding her face.
Claire got up and went across to give her a hug. ‘I think you moving into Dan’s flat is a great idea, Alison,’ she said. ‘You need a place of your own.’
Death on the Coast Page 5
