by Tana Collins
‘And Cuthbert?’
‘Put up a fight. He was punched in the face. Looks like he hit his head against a chest.’
‘What time was the break-in?’
‘Just after five in the morning.’
So Derek Sturrock must have left before five. ‘I wonder what time the party finished?’
‘Party?’
Carruthers thought quickly. ‘Bingham had a freshly laundered dinner suit hanging on his office door, yesterday. He said he was attending a black-tie event over at Cuthbert’s.’
Fletcher frowned. ‘Didn’t realise they were so chummy.’
‘Know each other through the golf club, apparently. Come on. Let’s walk around the grounds first before we enter the house.’
He directed a confused looking Fletcher away from the building, towards where he had seen the helicopter deposit its occupants.
‘What are we looking for?’ said Fletcher.
‘You’ll see.’ They walked through the undergrowth and came out at the clearing. ‘I knew it. There it is.’ Carruthers pointed to an enormous ‘H’ marked in the clearing.
‘Wow. A helicopter landing pad,’ said Fletcher. ‘How did you know this was here?’
‘Let’s just say a little bird told me. I have it on good authority that guests arrived last night by helicopter.’
‘Whose authority?’ Fletcher said frowning. ‘What guests?’
‘C’mon, let’s get back to the house. I’ve seen what I needed to see.’
They walked back to the house and made their way to the back of the property where the robbery had taken place. Mud tracks showed where the Jeep had slid in, stopped and then fishtailed back out again. Accessing the house through the remains of the French windows, Carruthers saw shards of broken glass everywhere. There was a massive scuff mark in the black leather couch.
‘What happened there?’
Fletcher shrugged. ‘Not entirely sure, boss. Think that gang might somehow have caught the frame on the leather.’
‘Guess his insurance will cover it all,’ said Fletcher, watching the fingerprint team working on dusting the walls. ‘Can’t imagine someone like Barry Cuthbert being underinsured.’
Unlike the McMullans, thought Carruthers. He tended to agree. He gazed at the dirty space over the fireplace where, until a few hours ago, the Stubbs had hung.
‘Easy enough to find out.’
‘What now?’ asked Fletcher.
‘I think I need to pay Barry Cuthbert a visit. I have a lot of questions for that man.’ He looked at his watch. Damn. Mustn’t forget I’m meeting the police artist later.
‘Well, he’s not fit to be interviewed yet. He’s still concussed.’
‘Indeed. We also need to interview Derek Sturrock again. Look, Andie, I’ve got a meeting set up with the Pajus in an hour. Can you cover that for me if I head off to the hospital?’
‘Sure thing. You’re obviously banking on him being fit to be interviewed soon.’
‘I am. The Pajus are staying at the Longstone Hotel in Castletown. Debrief me as soon as you can. I’ll be on my mobile. And, Andie, I don’t like to ask but–’
‘You want me to accompany them to the mortuary?’
Knowing he was going to be tied up first at the hospital then back at the station, he nodded.
Fletcher and Watson arranged to pick up the Pajus from their hotel. When Fletcher pulled up in her green Beetle there was a blonde couple in their forties already waiting by the front door, clinging to each other like shipwreck survivors. The two female officers got out of the car and went across to them.
‘Mr and Mrs Paju?’ Fletcher felt it inappropriate to smile under the circumstances but she extended her hand to each of them, thanked them for flying over and tried her best to look approachable. She understood only too well what the loss of a child felt like, for all her circumstances had been very different.
‘Erik and Karen, please. Marika is our only child,’ said Karen, looking towards her husband. ‘What could we do? Of course we would fly over. We need to know what happened to our child.’
Erik nodded before speaking. ‘Can we get on with it, please? As you can understand, we are both very anxious.’
‘Of course,’ said Fletcher.
Watson held open the back door for the couple while they climbed in the car. She shut the door then took her seat next to Fletcher.
‘It will only take us about fifteen minutes,’ said Fletcher, starting the engine. She looked for a break in the traffic and then manoeuvred the car into the road.
‘We are a bit unclear how this girl died,’ said Erik. ‘We still have a hard time accepting it might be Marika.’
Watson turned round to speak with them. ‘Understandable. The circumstances are not yet clear. What we do know is she fell from a cliff.’
‘Fell?’ said Erik.
‘As I said, we’re still not yet clear what happened to her,’ said Fletcher.
‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’ asked Mr Paju.
Fletcher and Watson exchanged a look.
‘Not at this stage.’ It was too soon to share the information that the girl had also been pregnant. The woman’s ID first needed to be established. Fletcher glanced at the Pajus in the rear-view mirror. She could see Erik reaching for his wife’s hand and giving it a squeeze.
Inevitably the details of this woman’s death and pregnancy would be disclosed in the fullness of time. Fletcher swallowed a lump in her throat. Thinking about the dead girl’s pregnancy was bringing back unpleasant memories and difficult feelings.
Fletcher pushed away all thoughts of her own pain. Now wasn’t the time. In all likelihood these poor people were about to see the body of their dead daughter. ‘Had Marika been unhappy at home?’ asked Fletcher.
‘Like many teenage girls she is headstrong,’ said Erik.
Fletcher noticed the use of the present tense. They still don’t think it’s going to be the body of their daughter, she thought. ‘Teenage?’ asked Fletcher, frowning. ‘How old is Marika?’
Mrs Paju looked confused. ‘Eighteen.’
Fletcher lowered her voice and hissed to Watson, ‘The Estonian police told Jim Marika Paju was twenty-six.’
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Mr Paju.
‘No, no,’ said Fletcher quickly. The conversation halted. Fletcher was busy trying to work out how this discrepancy had arisen. She knew mistakes happened, but still… Wasn’t sure whether to phone Carruthers. She decided to wait. They were now only five minutes away from the mortuary.
‘How had your daughter been in the last few weeks before she went missing? Was there any change in her moods or had she met anyone new?’ Fletcher hoped the answers to these questions would assist the investigation.
‘We had a couple of rows,’ said Karen. ‘She wasn’t always happy with the decisions we made for her, but running away? No.’
‘You made her decisions? At eighteen? What sort of things did she want to do that you disapproved of?’ asked Fletcher.
‘She wanted to travel,’ said Mrs Paju. ‘We thought she was too young. What did she know of life? There are so many dangers out there. She had dreams of coming to the UK to be a nanny. She loves children. But like I said, we told her, she was too young.’
Fletcher knew that an increasing number of young women were being lured to countries like Britain with promises of cleaning or nannying jobs. Instead they ended up being trafficked for sex. Karen stifled a sob. Fletcher was starting to get the impression of loving if over-protective parents. Had Marika felt stifled? Probably.
‘Did Marika have a boyfriend when she went missing?’ asked Watson.
Probably not, thought Fletcher, otherwise why would she want to travel, unless he was going to be going with her?
‘No. She had been in a relationship with the son of friends the year before but the relationship had finished. They were still friends, though,’ said Mr Paju.
They finally pulled up outside the mortuary. As she gu
ided the Pajus out of the car they approached the front door to be greeted by Jodie Pettigrew, the pathology assistant.
‘Do you want to go through to the waiting area?’ Jodie asked. ‘Dr Mackie’s just on a quick break.’
Fletcher smiled. ‘Sure,’ she said. She escorted the Pajus to reception while Watson went to find the toilet. Fletcher wondered if Carruthers knew Jodie was back. Made a mental note to give him the heads-up. Knew he wouldn’t be happy. Jodie Pettigrew was another relationship that hadn’t ended well for him. What was it about her boss and women?
Once Watson got back from the bathroom and Mackie had finished his cigarette they guided the Estonians to the viewing area. Mrs Paju was quietly sniffling, her husband still holding her arm.
At the sight of the sheeted body through the window Karen started to cry again. Fletcher noticed that Erik’s hands were shaking. What an ordeal for any parent, she thought. And how much more difficult when you had to travel to a foreign country where the language wasn’t your own.
Mackie asked the couple if they were ready. Mr Paju said something in Estonian to his wife and she nodded. As the sheet was gently lifted back the Pajus both leant over and looked at the face of the young woman.
With a shriek Mrs Paju collapsed into her husband’s arms. Fletcher caught sight of the expression on his face. It was relief. He turned to her. ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘It isn’t little Marika. It isn’t our daughter.’
Fletcher, shocked, could only watch as the Estonian couple clung on to each other, laughing and crying at the same time.
The dark-haired uniformed police officer stood and moved aside as Carruthers approached him, flashing his police badge. ‘He’s a lot better than he was.’
‘Since when?’
‘A short while ago.’
Carruthers scowled. ‘Why didn’t you ring me?’
The young officer turned red. ‘Doctor wants to run some more tests before he gets interviewed. Told me to wait.’
‘And who do you answer to? Him or me?’
‘You, sir.’
Carruthers could feel a muscle twitching in his cheek. ‘Might be worth remembering that in the future.’
The dark-haired man hung his head. ‘Yes, sir.’
Carruthers peered through the window in the door at Barry Cuthbert. He was lying in bed with his eyes closed. Half his face swollen. Head bandaged. He was on his own. The doctor must be still doing his rounds. Carruthers knocked once and entered the room.
‘Are you up to answering some questions?’ Carruthers didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Who did this to you, Barry?’
Cuthbert tried to turn his face away from Carruthers. ‘’Ow should I know? They was wearing balaclavas.’ His words came out in a hiss. And Carruthers could detect a slight slurring of words, probably due to the concussion. It was clear to Carruthers that the man was having trouble speaking.
Carruthers limped across to the other side of the bed, pulling up a plastic chair as he went. ‘Did they speak? Did you recognise the voices?’
‘I don’t remember them speaking.’
Carruthers shook his head. ‘I find that hard to believe. You end up in hospital after trying to stop thieves from robbing you and not a word was said?’
Cuthbert just shrugged. He tried to sit up, gesturing that he wanted his glass of water. Carruthers leant over him and moved the straw closer, noticing the man’s bloodshot eye on the side of the face with the swelling and bruising. He then saw Cuthbert’s bloody and swollen knuckles. Pointing to them, he said, ‘Got a few punches in, then?’
‘I ’old me own in fights.’
Cuthbert spluttered on the water, gasping for air. ‘Take it easy,’ said Carruthers. ‘What were you arguing with Derek Sturrock about at your dinner party?’
Silence.
‘You were seen arguing by a reliable witness.’ Reliable witness my arse, thought Carruthers. He was acting without permission from Bingham and nothing he said would be admissible in court. But the point was he was there and had seen with his own eyes the two men arguing.
‘Derek Sturrock wasn’t at the party. Why would he be?’
Carruthers raised his eyebrows. ‘OK, have it your way, Barry. So what time did the last guest leave?’
‘About two, as far as I can remember. Me memory is a bit fuzzy.’
Carruthers noticed Cuthbert’s Cockney accent had got stronger. Interesting. No doubt he’d been trying to work on losing it but can’t keep it up in hospital. What Cuthbert had said about the time of the last guest leaving, Carruthers knew didn’t tally with what he’d been told by Fletcher, but he let that one go. After all, the man had already lied about Sturrock being at the party.
‘All drive to the estate, did they?’
Cuthbert tried to prop himself up, half turning to plump up his pillows. Wincing with the effort. ‘’Ow else would they get there?’
‘What about the people who came later by helicopter? For the after-party?’
‘What helicopter?’
‘OK. If that’s the way you want to play it.’ Carruthers paused. ‘I’ll need a copy of your guest list,’ he said after some time.
‘Is that necessary?’
‘It is. Just a minute.’ He stuck his head round the door. Found the PC reading the Daily Record. Carruthers frowned. ‘Find me a pen and paper, will you?’ he said.
The PC lowered the paper. ‘What, now?’
Carruthers’ mouth formed a tight line. ‘No, next frigging century. Yes now and quick smart.’ Carruthers went back into the room and turned once more to Barry Cuthbert. ‘What’s the extent of your injuries?’
Cuthbert lifted a bruised and bloodied hand and touched the side of his face. ‘Fractured cheekbone’s ’bout the size of it.’ He winced. ‘I hit the back of me head when I fell. They want to run more tests. Keeping me in for observation. Should be out in a couple of days.’
The door opened. The young police officer handed over a pen and paper to Carruthers who in turn handed them to Cuthbert. ‘No time like the present, Barry,’ he said, ‘I tell you what.’ He grabbed the pen and paper back, realising how difficult it was going to be for Cuthbert to write, given the state of his injured hands. ‘You give me the names. I’ll write them down. Let’s start with Superintendent Bingham.’
After about twenty minutes Carruthers had written the names of about twenty guests down. Not one of them sounded Estonian.
‘Who was the last guest to arrive?’ Carruthers asked.
Cuthbert shrugged. Screwed his eyes up. ‘I fink it was Dexter Mulholland at about eight but I can’t be sure. I can’t bloody remember.’
‘Nobody later?’
‘Why all the questions? Look, can you hurry up and finish. Me ’ead’s getting worse and I’m starting to feel sick.’ Carruthers opened his mouth to speak but before he had a chance, Cuthbert said, ‘For fuck’s sake, man, you don’t still fink I have anything to do wiv these art thefts? I’ve been targeted just like the rest.’ Cuthbert pulled a face.
‘I did wonder that,’ said Carruthers. ‘And all I can deduce is that you got greedy, wanted a bigger cut so they decided to teach you a lesson.’
As Carruthers walked away from Barry Cuthbert he checked his mobile. Three missed calls, all from Fletcher. He left the hospital, sat in the car and called her back.
‘What’s up?’ he asked. He needed to get back to the station. He was going to be late for the police artist. He listened to her breathless voice. He knew what she was about to tell him was going to be important.
‘Jim, I’m back at the hotel with Mr and Mrs Paju. You’re not going to believe this. The dead girl’s not Marika Paju.’
Carruthers felt the world tilt. Whatever he had expected Fletcher to say, that wasn’t it. He was so sure they’d get a positive ID. He smoothed the creases on his forehead.
‘How’s that possible, Jim?’ said Fletcher. ‘The Estonian police were so sure.’
Not just the Estonian police, thought Carruthers. What about th
e anonymous phone caller also giving the name of Marika Paju? His mind was racing. ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘There’s no doubt?’
‘None whatsoever. Their daughter is eighteen, not mid-twenties. And she doesn’t have a tattoo. At least not that they know of.’
‘OK, when you’re done, get yourselves back to the station. Wait, try to get a photograph of their daughter before they leave, will you? It might prove useful.’
‘Already got it, Jim. It’s not the same woman.’
Then who the hell was she? thought Carruthers. Instead, he said, ‘I’m heading back to the station myself. I’ll set up a brief for later.’ Carruthers wondered how on earth that mix-up could have happened.
‘Oh, I thought you should know. Jodie’s back.’
Carruthers’ heart sank. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms. He didn’t have time to respond as Fletcher started speaking again.
‘How did you get on with Cuthbert?’ she asked.
‘Says he doesn’t know who beat him up. He’s lied about the time the party finished, about Sturrock being there and about the arrival of the late-night guests. Makes me wonder what else he’s lying about. Mind you, he was still pretty groggy when I interviewed him.’ He paused. ‘OK, Andie, keep me posted. I’ll be back at the station soon.’ He finished the call and drove out of the hospital car park.
As soon as he arrived back, Carruthers went straight to the canteen. Being mid-afternoon there were no sandwiches left so he got himself a coffee and KitKat. Trying to ignore his hunger pangs, he headed back to his desk.
There was a note on his desk. Dougie Harris’s scrawly handwriting. ‘Police artist delayed til 3.’ Carruthers looked at his watch. He had twenty minutes. There was more on the back of the note. ‘Inspector Mikael Tamm from the Tallinn Police rung. Can you give him a call back.’
He sat at his desk staring at the note whilst he ate his KitKat. Between mouthfuls he picked up the phone and dialled the number of the Tallinn Police Station. He needed to find out how it was the Estonian police had mistakenly told them that Marika Paju was twenty-six when in fact she was a teenager of eighteen. There was an answer machine. Carruthers didn’t understand a word but left a message anyway. Coffee in hand he went in search of Bingham. Found him coming out of the Gents. Uncharacteristically he was still doing his flies up.
