‘Ah, Gaby. I do hope you have news for me,’ he said when she walked in. ‘I’ve just come from a breakfast meeting with the chief and I can tell you he’s far from happy.’ He pushed himself up from his desk and plonked an open newspaper in front of her. ‘While I do appreciate the scaremongering tactics of the gutter press is outside your domain, this sort of trash journalism has to stop.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied automatically, her attention on the news article taking up the whole of the front page.
The Redhaired Murders, who’s next?
‘I don’t know which bright spark cottoned on to the hair colour side of things. Especially when the first victim was a brunette.’ He sank back down in his chair, propping both elbows on the desk, his stare intense. ‘Please tell me you have something I can give the chief; anything will do. As we both know, he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but it does have to be believable.’
She held his gaze while she tried to think of something to say that would placate him. There wasn’t anything – yet.
‘I can assure you that the team is working flat out,’ she returned swiftly, taking in the short cropped greying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, which he peered through with an intensity that matched his myopic state. ‘Dr Mulholland has determined that we’re looking for a right-handed male and we’ll shortly be able to attempt to match DNA samples found at both crime scenes.’
‘Go on, what else?’
She swallowed, the taste of stale alcohol and bile turning her stomach. What else indeed? Her mind gripped onto the first thing to hand; Paul de Bertrand, her thoughts swerving back to the school before returning to the newspaper headline in front of her. While red hair did feature, it wasn’t her main interest, not now. There had to be a reason for the killer to choose that shed and, if she was a betting woman, she’d put money on de Bertrand being involved even if he didn’t have the medical knowledge required to place the knife.
‘I’m still looking at a line of enquiry at the school. Disgruntled parents and staff – that sort of thing. We’re pretty sure that Christine de Bertrand isn’t involved and, as for Barry Price …’ She spread her hands. ‘Unless he’s a consummate actor, he’s a broken man.’
She watched him glaring across the divide of the desk. ‘That’s all very well, Darin, but it’s nowhere near enough. Don’t make me regret my decision to promote you.’
If you feel that strongly, perhaps you should take the job and stuff it down your scrawny gullet. Instead, the coward in her, the coward that had a mortgage payment due and a car that was stuck together with gaffer tape and wishful thinking, kept silent. And with that thought she retreated out of his office, suppressing any more words with a slight inclination of her head. She’d have to make a tough decision about her future, and soon, but not until she’d put this case to bed.
Unlike many of the detectives she’d met during her career, Gaby wasn’t someone to hold grudges or take her bad mood out on the officers working alongside her. After all, it wasn’t their fault she’d had too much to drink or that Sherlock had decided to use her as a proverbial punchbag. She’d always believed the way to get the most out of colleagues was to treat them with respect and, apart from that unfortunate spell in Cardiff, she hadn’t been disappointed. She closed her mind to thoughts of Rusty. She’d tried, she’d more than tried to treat him as a fellow professional and, as failure wasn’t a concept she signed up to, she’d just have to try a different approach.
The squad room was empty apart from Owen working on his computer. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing with most of the team out as they followed up on leads.
‘Grab a car, Owen. We’re meeting Amy around at Barry Price’s at ten,’ she said, the sight of his neatly clipped beard sparking a memory. ‘And, after, I need you to have a little chat with Devine about his appearance.’
‘His appearance. What!’ he exploded.
‘His beard, or designer stubble – whatever you want to call it. I don’t care if he thinks he’s God’s gift. On my watch, it’s clean-shaven, moustache or beard.’
‘Does that also go for the women or is it only us men you’re haranguing?’
She stopped, both hands on her hips, her smile softening. ‘Come on, Owen. Help me out here. Better it comes from you now than Sherlock later, and I’m sure Devine would much rather that you have a quiet word than me.’
‘That’s your way of wriggling out of awkward situations, is it? Passing the buck.’
‘You’d do the same in my shoes. Car. Five minutes if you please.’
Gaby picked up her phone from the dashboard and phoned Amy yet again, leaving another message when it went to voicemail.
‘Where the hell is she? She promised she’d be here.’
‘You know Amy,’ said Owen. ‘She’d be here if she could. She’s probably been called in on a case at the last minute and has her phone switched off. With Elaine still on holiday she’s having to cover her workload as well as her own.’ He undid his seatbelt and opened his door. ‘While I don’t relish what we’re about to do surely we can manage on our own for once? It’s not as if we have time to waste waiting around to see if she’s going to turn up.’
Telling a man that there was irrefutable evidence that his recently murdered wife was carrying another man’s child was always going to be up there with the worst things Gaby had ever had to do. But, contrary to her fears, where she’d expected anger and tears all she got was complete silence.
Staring into Barry Price’s face, she could see the devastation she’d caused and a quick glance at Owen confirmed that he felt the same way. The man in front of her was broken in every way possible. His life was smashed into a thousand pieces and there was nothing she could think of to say that would help. Amy’s unique sense of compassion married with her professionalism was what was needed in this cold, dark room. She only wished she’d waited for her but it was too late for regrets.
There were a hundred things Gaby should be saying, phrases she’d learnt by rote during her training, but her mind was blank to each and every one of them. She didn’t know his parents, his family, his friends. She knew nothing about him other than that he was now a widower with two little boys and a mother-in-law who wasn’t the most sympathetic of people. The boys would be at school, which was one blessing, she thought, placing a mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him and hovering beside the sofa, not quite knowing what to do. The fact that she hadn’t liked him was immaterial. Yes, he was probably a philandering type, but no one deserved what life had thrown at him.
‘Look …’
But she didn’t get any further. She’d been going to offer more platitudes but all she got was Barry roaring to his feet, his pale cheeks now suffused with anger.
‘Get out, now! Do you hear. Get out before I throw you out. You should have found her when I called— If only you’d listened instead of—’ He broke off again, but instead of words, almost pushed them out into the hall and then into the garden. ‘I don’t want you here. I don’t need anyone with a box of f’ing tissues and soft speech. You as good as murdered her, do you hear! Her death is on your hands,’ he finally screamed, slamming the door in their faces.
Gaby glanced across at Owen, not knowing quite what to say. There was nothing she could say because, in a way he was right. If only they’d found her sooner … Instead of words, she sent Amy another quick message before pocketing her mobile and opening the car door, her thoughts struggling to shift from the tragedy continuing to unfold for the Price family.
It was always fatal for an officer to play the what-if game but in such circumstances, it was almost impossible not to. One look at Owen’s set face and Gaby knew he was putting himself in Barry’s position. As a single woman with no dependants, her circumstances were very different. But, one day, she planned to meet that special person and, if time was still on her side, have a child or two. She shivered, a cold shower of reality kicking in. Life wasn’t a fairy-tale and happy ever afters were som
ething the force had drummed out of her over the years. The truth was, she was a short, overweight woman with a forthright attitude that scared most men shitless. She turned her head, contemplating the Price house, the curtains still pulled. Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. There was less chance of getting hurt that way.
It was a little over an hour to Oswestry, an hour in which Gaby rested her head back against the seat and let Owen take charge. The pneumatic drill was still pounding away inside her skull, but a couple of Alka-Seltzers seemed to have done the trick on her stomach. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to function with a headache and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
The little market town, situated on the Welsh border, was new to her but she didn’t ask Owen to slow down so that she could take in the sights.
‘Tell me what you know about Christine de Bertrand’s parents?’
He concentrated on taking the first left past St Oswald’s church before answering. ‘Nice couple by all accounts. Not known to us, even for a parking violation. They used to run a small hotel facing Llandudno seafront before retiring here about ten years back. Older parents – must be mid-seventies. Christine is their only child.’
‘They must be pretty special to happily accommodate their daughter’s ex,’ she said, watching as he pulled up outside a detached red-brick house, with lace nets on the windows. ‘I still can’t get over he’s moved in with them.’ She pushed open the car door, tucking her handbag under the seat, before swinging her legs out.
The tea was hot and strong, making her wish she had the nerve to ask for a refill. But de Bertrand’s ex-mother-in-law had retreated into the kitchen and the man in front of them wasn’t even prepared to lift his head let alone be hospitable.
‘Thank you again for agreeing to see us, Dr de Bertrand.’
‘I didn’t know I had any choice,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest.
‘No, well, we’re hoping to keep this to an informal chat, unless you’d like to come back to the station?’ she said, her voice hardening along with her resolve.
‘No, of course not. So, how can I help?’
‘I wasn’t sure you’d still be here?’ Her Liverpudlian accent stressed the last vowel.
He pulled a grimace. ‘She’s still staying with Kelly, probably best under the circumstances,’ he replied, his gaze landing on the dog. ‘Ruby isn’t easy to accommodate.’
Gaby’s eyes followed his, her expression softening. While she didn’t know one end of a dog from another, adopting an animal had always been on her bucket list. The dog appeared well looked after and obviously trusted its owner. That surely had to count for something.
‘Okay, perfectly understandable under the circumstances.’ She’d really like to know why they’d split up, but he’d evaded that question before, and she had more important concerns to address. ‘So, the reason we’re here is really a fact-finding expedition. The last time we met you provided a bulletproof explanation as to your whereabouts around the time of Mrs Price’s abduction,’ she said, stirring in the chair, her jacket bunching around her shoulders. ‘Can you come up with an explanation as to why the murderer would specifically choose your school to dump the body? Coppers don’t like coincidences and I’ll think you’ll agree that it’s too much of one not to investigate further.’
When he finally spoke his words were deliberate, reflecting the thought he must have given to this specific facet of the case. ‘While I agree, I don’t know enough of the facts to give an informed opinion. Christine goes on a night out, meets a man. Takes him home and he presumably then chooses to murder Nikki. There’s no link to the school that I can see apart from Christine being my ex-wife, which has to be viewed as tenuous at best.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ Owen interrupted, turning to face her. ‘What about the drinking game?’
Gaby inclined her head in acknowledgement before asking, ‘Did you know about the drinking game, Dr?’ Her calm expression and tone hid her budding excitement.
‘The drinking game?’ he repeated, shaking his head.
‘Yes. Apparently, her friend—’
‘Kelly, ma’am.’
‘Yes, thank you, Owen,’ she said, a smile breaking in acknowledgement. ‘Kelly started off a drinking game, which entailed asking men how to spell de Bertrand and for each misspelling there was a forfeit where drinks were bought.’
‘I have been around, Officer. What else could it be other than an excuse to get pissed?’
‘Yes, but what I’m getting at—’
‘What you’re getting at is, my wife could have unwittingly told a stranger her surname, a surname that meant something to someone.’
‘Exactly.’
He lifted his mug and drained it in one before stretching out his hand and gathering up the crockery. ‘This needs some thought. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll put the kettle on.’
As soon as the door closed, Owen burst out laughing. ‘He’s awfully well spoken.’
‘Be quiet. I have to think.’ She placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. ‘You know, I’m sure you’re onto something. What if there was someone in that bar who knew de Bertrand and, as soon as he heard his name, formulated a plan, a plan of revenge?’ she asked, her face animated, the dull thud in her head now only a minor irritant.
‘That’s all very well but it wasn’t Christine that was murdered.’
‘Shush a minute, I’m still thinking.’ The grip on his arm tightened. ‘What if the plan wasn’t to kill her but instead to have sex. As she said herself, hooking up wasn’t something she did. So, he’s standing at the bar, keeping himself to himself when he hears a name, a name he hates above all others. The getting her pissed would have been easy, she was halfway there already. He could have followed her back under the pretext of helping her, whatever. She’d have felt obliged to ask him in for a coffee and, once inside, he could have easily made his plan bulletproof by nipping to the loo and raiding her medicine cabinet. What better way to get back at De Bertrand than screwing his ex-wife senseless especially as it’s clear to everyone that he’s still in love with her?’
‘That doesn’t explain why Nikki ended up dead though, does it? And where does Tracy fit in?’
She let go of his arm, her mind trying to weave strands that didn’t want to be woven. Red hair had to be key and Nikki was a brunette except for that disastrous one episode where she’d tried to impersonate Christine. Nikki, who was infatuated with Paul de Bertrand and, if her self-harming was anything to go by, not the most stable of individuals.
‘She could have easily blamed Christine for everything that was wrong with her life, but would that have led her to thoughts of murder …?’ She lifted her head, a sound from the hall having her sit back in her chair, a bland smile stapled in place.
There were no preliminaries with Paul de Bertrand. After the niceties of handing out replenished mugs was over, he sat down, Ruby settling her head on his feet and started speaking. ‘In a job such as mine, one comes up against enemies all the time but most wouldn’t stoop to murder or, at least, I hope not. It’s hard enough attracting teachers to the profession as it is without the threat of being slaughtered.’ His lips moulded into the parody of a smile. ‘St Gildas is an old, revered school but, until I took up the reins as headmaster, it was falling behind in the league tables. Now it’s in the top ten and rivalling the likes of Winchester and Magdalen for that top slot.’ He nursed his mug on his knee, his attention now on Ruby. ‘For that to happen we had to push other schools down and they wouldn’t have liked that one little bit but for them to resort to murder …’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t see it. So, closer to home, there’s a smattering of teachers that we’ve had to let go, but not many and none since my divorce. Obviously, it’s up to the acting headmaster to provide you with details but Mathew Diamond and Jake Seymour are two that ring a bell.’ He cradled his mug between long fingers before continuing. ‘Finally, there’s students, not that I think for an instant that, since my tenure
at the college, any of them would have committed such an act. But their parents – that’s a different matter altogether. The lengths some are prepared to go, to ensure their child progresses, would turn your hair grey although, it’s true to say that it’s more verbal than physical.’ He placed his untouched drink on the coffee table. ‘Being a headmaster is a little like being a guardian, diplomat and conciliator all rolled into one. For me to give you any names is against everything—’
‘If you don’t, sir, we can always get a court order,’ Gaby interrupted, watching as he rubbed Ruby’s ears between his thumb and forefinger.
‘I know you can but that doesn’t make this any easier.’ He shook his head a second time before finally returning their gaze. ‘To expel a child from a public school is rare. We don’t do it unless the child gives us very little choice and that’s where my thoughts are taking me. Suspending a child is different. Suspensions are two-a-penny and, after strong words from Mater and Pater, the child usually cleans up their act. But there is one that I can think of that sticks out.’ He let go of Ruby to lift up his mug, his knuckles straining through the skin. ‘Ronan Stevens’s expulsion just after Christmas still rankles. If the mother hadn’t been in hospital it might have been a very different scenario but there was nothing I could do in the end to protect the boy from the consequences of his actions. There was even talk about including the police over the assault. We were very lucky the boys’ parents decided not to press charges.
Gaby caught Owen’s eye, suddenly remembering where she’d seen the St Gildas school emblem before – emblazoned on the school jumper worn by one of Casper Stevens’s children.
Darkest Night Page 21
