Brushing the moisture away, yet again, he knocked at the next houseboat on his list. The details of all the owners of the houseboats that Jeff Buckley had given to him yesterday hadn’t revealed much. There was no one by the name of Zane anybody and no Tyler Wells either. It could be that Zane was using yet another alias that they weren’t yet aware of, or that he wasn’t tied to the island at all. Sagging under the weight of his depression, Saunders knocked at the door of a one storey houseboat, smaller and less conspicuous than most of its neighbours. But Saunders could see right away that there was nobody at home. The windows were shuttered closed, there were no plants or furniture on the deck and it had an air of abandonment about it. The paint was peeling in places on the wooden cladding and the bottom of the door had been kicked open that many times that the previous colour paint was bleeding through. Saunders knocked anyway.
His knuckles rapped against the door. Silence. Listening carefully for any sounds from the inside, all he could hear was the lapping of the water and the dripping of the drizzle from the trees. Here and there he could hear the voices of the rest of the team who were going around the island interviewing the residents. So far no one had recognised their picture of Tyler Wells. Giving up, Saunders crunched along the gravel path out of the small garden and round to the next boat.
It seemed he might have more luck this time. The windows of the houseboat blazed with light, he could hear a radio playing quietly inside accompanied by the sound of washing up. His knock was answered by a rather attractive woman who Saunders put at mid-60’s. Her make-up was subtle and her short white hair softly framed her face. She was wiping her hands on a tea-towel.
“Ah, so it’s my turn is it, officer?” she grinned.
“Your turn?”
He immediately felt stupid when she replied, “It doesn’t take a genius to work out that the police are walking around the island interviewing everyone.”
“No, sorry.”
“Is it about the bodies?”
She wasn’t the first owner that had asked him that, the rumour mill was obviously alive and well on Taggs Island.
“Sorry ma’am I can’t comment on that. Are you,” Saunders checked his list, “Judith Moulton?”
“Yes, that’s me. I’ve been here for over 10 years now. When my husband died I bought the boat as I wanted to be close to London but still be in a community. Best thing I ever did.”
“I’m sure,” murmured Saunders, realising she could be crossed off his list. “Have you ever seen this man on the island?” He held out his photograph without much hope of getting a positive answer.
She took it and stepped backwards into the light. Saunders hoped he might be invited in for a cuppa, but no such luck. Instead she said, “Yes. He’s my neighbour that side,” and she pointed to the empty boat Saunders had just been to.
Saunders consulted his list. “Would that be Mr and Mrs Jackson?”
“Oh no, they’re in Dubai for a few years, so they rent out their houseboat occasionally. This photo is of Tim Bench.”
“Any idea what he does, this Tim Bench?” Saunders struggled to keep the excitement out of his voice and remain impassive.
“Oh, he says he’s a writer and he travels a lot for his research, so he’s not here most of the time. Probably comes a couple of times a month for a few days at a time.”
Scribbling furiously in his notebook, trying not to tear the damp pages, Saunders said, “Mrs Moulton, would you mind if I came in and asked you a few more questions?”
Taking in his sopping clothes she said, “If you take your shoes and wet coat off and dump them over there,” she pointed by the side of the doorway, “I’ll go and make us a cup of tea. One sugar or two?”
Saunders could have kissed her.
50
Instead of going to arrest Tyler, Crane and Anderson reluctantly set up an interview with him and his solicitor. Not quite the impact they had hoped to make. When they met, Tyler Wells was clearly unnerved by the request and sat on the purposefully uncomfortable plastic chair, tapping his heel on the floor, next to his solicitor. Charles Walker sat back and studied Crane and Anderson with something akin to amusement as they walked in through the door and settled themselves at the bare wooden table. Crane hated the man as much as he had the first time they’d met, when Walker had successfully bulldozed his way through their case and managed to get Tyler released on bail. Crane wanted to wipe the self-satisfied smug off the man’s face.
“Thank you for coming,” said Anderson to the two men, with a politeness that Crane found galling. “We’ve asked you to come in as there is some new evidence we’d like to discuss with you.”
Charles Walker put a restraining hand on his client’s arm, as Tyler seemed about to speak, and asked Anderson to explain.
“We’ve had a visit from Mrs Carlton.” At Tyler’s puzzled expression, he continued, “Janey Cunningham’s mother, your maternal grandmother.”
Tyler reeled back at the news, his mouth opening and closing like a guppy. But before he could say anything, Walker once again stopped him and motioned for Anderson to carry on speaking.
“She has informed us that Janey Carlton gave birth to twin boys and had specifically requested that they be named Tyler and Zane. They were taken away from her moments after their birth and given up for adoption.”
“They?” asked Tyler. “You mean my brother and I? I have a twin brother?”
“That’s correct,” said Crane watching Wells closely, who clearly had no idea of his background. The look of astonishment on his face was akin to the gape of an unprepared lottery winner.
“You mean I have a living grandmother? A real biological grandmother? I’m not sure I ever wanted to know all of this,” Wells shook his head and then shook his solicitor’s hand away. “Let me speak,” he said turning to Walker, “This needs to be said.” Turning back to Anderson and Crane he blurted, “I was happy in my life, felt comfortable, secure, in control. And now? Now I feel like I’m losing my mind! I feel I’m being disloyal to my adoptive parents, who have never been anything but wonderful to me, so understanding and so kind. And this is how I repay them, by getting arrested for murder and for my birth family to invade my life as though it were their right. They have no rights. Those rights were given up when my mother gave me away. I don’t want any of this.”
“Please, Mr Wells,” said Anderson.
Tyler Wells stood and said, “Don’t please me. You bastards are ruining my life. I’m in danger of losing everything. My wife, my family, my job and my home and I haven’t done anything. Not a bloody thing!”
As Charles Walker calmed his client and cajoled him into sitting down again, Crane fancied that really the bloke needed to talk to a counsellor, not shout at a couple of policemen who were only doing their job when they’d arrested him for murder. And nor was Tyler off the hook. His DNA was still a match to the semen found on Janey Carlton, so they could still prosecute. Wells was only on bail, not declared innocent because of the latest revelations. A fact Charles Walker would no doubt make sure his client fully understood.
“For the moment you will remain on police bail,” said Anderson. “But we need to ask that you please contact us if your brother Zane gets in touch.”
“Do you think he will?” asked Walker, eyes wide, horrified by the thought.
“It’s a real possibility. Now we know that Zane does exist, and that your client’s reports of someone in his house and his credit card details being stolen could in fact be true, it stands to reason he might well want to take things further. Instead of stalking Tyler, he might now want to meet him.”
“Why? Why should I?” shouted Tyler. “Why should I help you lot?”
“Because you’ll be helping yourself as well don’t forget,” said Crane. “You’ll need him if you want to prove that he killed his mother and not you.”
“I don’t want anything to do with him.” Tyler folded his arms and Crane thought the man looked like a sulky teenager.
“But…” said Anderson.
“Don’t but me,” spat Tyler. “How can I even speak to someone who killed his mother? Who had sex with his mother before he killed her! It makes my skin crawl.”
“Possibly had,” interjected Crane, just for the hell of it.
“Definitely had,” retorted Tyler, “Because I bloody well didn’t.”
“I think we need to leave it there, for now,” said the solicitor smoothly. “Thank you for the information, Inspector, Sgt Major. You’ll be in touch if you hear anything else?”
“You can count on it, sir,” said Anderson and Crane watched the two men leave the room, the urbane solicitor and his crumpled client.
51
The day was not being kind to Tyler Wells. Two companies he’d invested in on behalf of clients were in free-fall and all he could do was to watch the red blinking lights that showed the decline in the price of their shares. Then a pitch he’d made to a potential new client had been turned down and the business given to a rival firm. He only hoped the day wouldn’t get any worse. Glancing at his watch he saw it was 1.30, so he decided to go and grab a sandwich that he would eat at his desk. And a good cup of coffee wouldn’t go amiss, a large one.
As Tyler was shrugging into his jacket, his phone rang. He was so desperate for the coffee that he could already smell its enticing aroma, but his work ethic kicked in and he answered the call, albeit none too happily.
“Hello, Tyler,” a voice he didn’t recognise said.
“Who is this?” Tyler stilled.
“Oh I forgot, we haven’t actually spoken before have we?”
The smooth baritone washed over Tyler, who couldn’t place the voice at all, but at the same time it was vaguely familiar. He sat down in his chair, unsure as to what to do.
“Who is this?” he repeated.
“Zane,” the man replied.
The chill that ran through Tyler’s body made him shudder. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, witnessing this unexpected phone call, but of course everyone was too caught up in their own work to bother with him. Tyler’s skin started to tingle with fear.
After a couple of false starts Tyler managed to croak, “What do you want?”
“Ah, I hear from your voice that you know who I am. It’s your long lost twin, who is lost no longer. I thought it was about time we met.”
“Why on earth would I want to meet you?” Anger was rising in Tyler now and he inhaled sharply. “What could we possibly have to say to each other?”
“Oh I’m sure we’ll find some common ground. I really would advise that you meet me, it would be in your best interest.”
“Really?” Tyler’s voice was increasing in volume and not wanting to be overheard he lowered it and hissed, “In my best interest? Why should I want to meet the man who is fucking up my life?”
“Maybe I should have said it would be in the best interests of your wife and children. They are beautiful by the way, those adorable twins of yours. And as for Penny….”
“Don’t you dare speak of my family; they’re nothing to do with you, with us, with this.”
“As I was saying,” the smooth, chilling voice of his twin continued, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything to happen to that lovely wife of yours, with her long blond hair and long legs. Have you realised just how much she resembles our mother? And we both know what happened to her, don’t we?”
Tyler stood, “Don’t you dare touch my wife!”
“Then meet me and I won’t.”
Looking around, Tyler realised he was attracting attention. He smiled weakly at his colleagues and fell back down into his chair.
“Come on, Tyler, you know I can get into your house. You’ve seen how much I can mess with your life and believe me, I’ve only just started. So unless you want a leading role in your own worst nightmare, meet me at Taggs Island tomorrow at noon.”
“Taggs Island?”
“Yes. I’ve a houseboat there. It’s really a rather pretty place and I’d love for you to see it. It’s so tranquil on the river. It might help your bad mood, sooth your anxieties, enable you to regain some balance in your life. Drive in over the bridge, I’m on ‘Dragonfly’. Turn right at the end of the bridge and it’s the fourth boat down. Don’t be late, I’m preparing something special for lunch and I wouldn’t want it spoiled.”
“You sick fuck,” Tyler spat into the phone, but Zane wasn’t listening. He’d already disconnected the call.
52
Making like they were visiting a friend for coffee, Saunders and Crane were dressed down and sitting in the salon of The Falcon (as they’d been told that was the proper name for a living room on a houseboat) with cups of coffee in their hands and chatting in a desultory way to Jeff Buckley and Judith Moulton. Crane looked at his watch, just one more time he promised himself, and found it was still only half past eleven. Exactly the same time as it had been when he’d last checked it. There were thirty minutes to go before Zane and Tyler met.
Saunders hadn’t been able to find Zane or Tim Bench as he was known on Taggs Island, so their only way of catching him was by gate crashing the meeting between Zane and his brother Tyler. Hence the mock up coffee morning and hence Penny Moulton being kept away from her own houseboat that was berthed next to ‘Dragonfly’, Zane’s houseboat.
Both Jeff and Penny had agreed to help the police, but Crane got the impression that it was only to protect Taggs Island and its houseboat owners. Saunders had asked the neighbours on either side of the houseboat, to ring him if the tenant was seen on the ‘Dragonfly’ but he wasn’t sure that they would have done. Crane agreed with the policeman, that the island was all a bit too private and introspective for him. Taggs Island residents seem to protect their own, shutting out the outside world, happily cocooned in their own bubble. All seemed to be artists, writers, photographers and musicians and all were more interested in their art than what was happening around them. Even now Buckley and Moulton were talking about improvements to the island that were under discussion by the Residents Association and how in future maybe they should stop owners from renting out their properties. For wasn’t this an example of having undesirables in their midst?
Crane stood, shaking out his khaki coloured trousers and pulling down his polo shirt. One look at his image in the glass wall only confirmed his suspicion that he still looked like a soldier. Glancing over at Saunders, he was relieved to find that the policeman also looked stiff and uncomfortable in the jeans and sweatshirt that he was wearing instead of his suit, but maybe it was the wait that was getting to him.
Crane opened the patio doors and stepped onto the deck of the Falcon. Nothing much was stirring, only a couple of ducks gliding along past the boat. They nudged up to the hull as though they were hoping for a few bits of bread, but when none were forthcoming from Crane, they lost interest in him and swam away. Crane could see the bridge that linked the island to the shore from his vantage point but was glad that he couldn’t see the back-up team of policemen who were waiting, hidden in the foliage, ready to grab Zane if he got away. Downstream, Crane knew the Marine Police Unit launch was also waiting, to intercept Zane if he tried to get away by water. Crane looked at the river again, hoping none of them would end up in there, for it looked particularly grey and uninviting, not to mention bloody cold.
Crane couldn’t sense any movement from Dragonfly, nor could he hear the sound of feet on deck. The sense of anticipation was building in Crane, so much so that he could taste victory. His teeth were on edge as though he was in the dentist’s waiting room and his tongue had a metallic taste to it. They were so close now. Surely their prey couldn’t get away? For if he did give them the slip, Crane was convinced Zane would re-invent himself once more and they’d never find him.
He’d wondered why on earth Zane had called Tyler in the first place, but Saunders had said that it was classic psychopathic behaviour. Zane wanted validation for his crimes. He needed to boast of his prowess to the man who would appre
ciate it most of all; his twin brother. He must see his twin as an extension of himself and needed to brag of his achievements, wanting and needing his brother’s validation.
“More coffee, Tom?” came the call from Buckley, and so Crane left the deck to return to the salon. Best to keep things looking as normal as possible.
53
Tyler had never felt more intimidated than he did now. The thought of meeting his brother, his sick, twisted brother, made Tyler’s stomach clench. He’d already been to the toilet on the way there, but still his body was insisting on physically manifesting his fear. He’d been in tense situations before, of course he had, but they were all to do with work. The last time he could remember being so nervous was when he’d asked Penny to marry him. Oh, and waiting for her at the altar, that was pretty scary as well. But those were good pains of anticipation. He hadn’t been filled with feelings of dread then, as he was now.
DI Anderson was in the car with him and running through all the possible scenarios he might encounter. But Tyler couldn’t keep his mind on the policeman’s words, as images of Penny kept skittering them away, as if they were nothing more than bowling pins being crashed out of existence by a ball. Then, memories of his girls intruded, and Tyler had to suddenly stop the car. Barrelling out of it, he ran to the hedgerow at the side of the road and folding in two, leaned over the grass and heaved. But all that came up from his stomach was bitter bile, making him feel worse than he had before. Once he had calmed down enough to straighten, he saw Anderson holding out a bottle of water.
“Here,” Anderson said, “try some of this.”
Tyler sipped the water gratefully, but not before he’d noticed his hands trembling as he tried to get the bottle to his lips.
“I always find thinking of something else works, when I’m in a tense situation,” said Anderson.
Solid Proof: A dark, disturbing, detective mystery (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Book 8) Page 16
