She Lies in Wait

by Gytha Lodge

  Anna had slid her hand through his, and Brett had taken it without looking at her.

  “Can you tell me where the drugs originated?” Jonah had asked quietly.

  “Yes. Well, no. Not originated from.” And then he had given Jonah an agonized look. DCI Sheens had seen many, many of those looks during his career. It was the expression of somebody choosing whether or not to throw someone to the dogs.

  “My investigation is about Aurora,” Jonah told him. “Whoever owned the drugs hasn’t got anything to fear from me. It’s thirty years ago, and I couldn’t track down any buyers if I wanted to.”

  It had been enough to tip him. It didn’t usually take very much.

  “Look,” he’d said, a pleading note to his voice after he’d spilled the truth. “I know it looks like…I know there was a lot there, but Benners never meant to sell any of it. He’s not like that. He was into his own fun, and helping his friends out. He didn’t profit from it. And he only ended up with such a crazy amount because some acquaintance of his was in trouble with his dealer.”

  “So all of you decided to keep quiet about it?”

  “Yes,” Brett had said. “We didn’t know what else to do.”

  Hanson was bright-eyed and half smiling as they climbed into the car.

  “That’s quite a motive for Daniel Benham committing a murder, isn’t it? Being a drug dealer to his friends?”

  “It is,” Jonah answered, a little more guardedly. “It’s one motive of numerous potentials.”

  “But he’d have been looking at youth offenders’ time,” Hanson persisted as she steered the car round a small, tidy circle of grass in the center of the driveway and drove back toward the main gates. “And if he wanted to go into politics then he would have known it was going to haunt him. That would have ruined him right at the start. Is he next on the list?”

  “Yes,” Jonah said, his thoughts going to that small space in the ground and the drugs hidden within it. “We need to talk to Benham. Brett said there was a lot of it, which I want to check with McCullough. But there’s more than motive in that stash.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s opportunity,” Jonah told her. “How many people even knew that place existed? I count six.”

  “Well, we don’t know.” Hanson was hesitant. “Other people may have stumbled on it.”

  “You mean before the murder?” Jonah asked. “If Brett was right, it had only been there three weeks. I’m pretty certain it was a well-guarded secret, that place. And that leaves us with a very short list of people who could have hidden the body there, and I make that Topaz Jackson, Brett Parker, Daniel Benham, Coralie Ribbans, Connor Dooley, and Jojo Magos.”

  Hanson nodded, and he could see her mind working. He let her follow her own train of thought. His mind went to Benners, the bleeding-heart liberal turned Conservative. He wondered, not for the first time, how the socialist schoolboy Benners had turned into Conservative MP for Meon Valley Daniel Benham. He couldn’t see much remaining of the left-wing, humanitarian, anarchic, and fiercely intelligent son of a tech-firm millionaire. Not in the news articles about the MP that Hanson had dug out. He wondered whether he would see something left of that boy when they spoke for the first time in years.

  * * *

  —

  JONAH HAD VISITED Bishop’s Waltham only a handful of times. Daniel Benham’s house was an old rectory at the end of a lane full of postcard-pretty cottages. It was a surprisingly large distance from the church.

  The gates were open, a growth of wisteria over one half suggesting they probably didn’t actually close anymore. There was more gravel here, but the lines were a little blurred between lawn, flower bed, and driveway. There were wildflowers in tubs on the porch and pansies in window boxes. A real cottage-garden feel.

  “Do you think this is paid for with drug money?” Hanson muttered. “Another awfully nice pad.”

  They parked alongside a gleaming black Range Rover, which made Jonah more envious than any huge pile in the country. Almost a hundred grand’s worth of car, and it would never be within Jonah’s reach.

  At least Daniel Benham, when he opened the door, looked a little more middle-aged than Brett Parker. His long, thin frame had a slight hint of a paunch, and his hair was thin and graying. His clothes were a different kind of expensive. Hunter wellies over cream trousers. A pale-blue shirt. A tweed jacket.

  Two chocolate Labradors came rolling out of the door with him, and Jonah tried not to grin at the way Hanson flinched. One of them responded by jumping up at her.

  “Monty! Monty! Get down. For goodness’ sake, Monty.” Daniel aimed a halfhearted shove at the dog, who moved aside and then jumped again. “Get back in the house, you useless animal.”

  He grabbed for each collar and bundled the two dogs inside, then pulled the door closed behind him.

  “Sorry. Demented creatures. Ah, thought you were the advance party back from choir, but you’re not, are you?” He gave Jonah a thoughtful look. “Go on. Give me a clue.”

  “DCI Sheens,” Jonah said. “And DC Hanson. Are we all right to come in?”

  “Oh. Well, yes. I was planning on a G and T and some Countryfile. But I suppose…”

  There was no spark of recognition. At school, they’d chatted more than once over a cigarette, and even discussed Jonah’s desire to join the police. But the MP had forgotten him at some point during the three decades since.

  Benham opened the door a fraction and shouted through it. “Polly! Polly, could you come and remove the dogs into the garden, please?”

  “Why?” The answer from inside was a girl’s voice rather than a woman’s. A daughter, he supposed.

  “Visitors! Come on, Polly. A little haste, please.”

  There was movement within. Daniel stood shifting in his Wellingtons, offering no conversation. Jonah was immune to the annoyance of a put-upon suspect. He stood equably looking at the flowers. It was twilight now, and their colors were luminous in the blue light.

  Eventually, there was a call from the rear of the house, and Benham let them into the yellow-lit hall. He slid his jacket off and hung it on an overly full hook.

  “I’m only just back from walking the dogs,” he said. “I usually give them some ham. They’ll be furious. But I suppose Polly can do it.”

  He removed his feet from the wellies and inserted them into a pair of heelless sheepskin slippers, then led the way into a heavily furnished sitting room.

  “Mary’s at her mother’s, so you can forget about talking to her.” He sat in a leather easy chair and gestured impatiently for the two of them to sit on a sofa. It was so deep in cushions that it was hard to find space to perch on the edge.

  “That’s quite all right, Mr. Benham,” Jonah said, smiling. “We don’t need to speak with her at present, and we won’t take up much of your time.”

  “How good of you.” The look Benham gave them was all sarcasm. It cheered Jonah a little, seeing that innate dislike of authority still in him. Though the boy he half remembered from school was not the important thing, unless that boy had killed a fourteen-year-old girl and hidden her body amid mud and foil. “So what is it?”

  “Aurora Jackson,” Jonah said. “Her remains have been found, not far from the campsite.”

  Jonah had wondered if he might face disbelief and had anticipated a long silence. What he had not expected was for the silence to be broken by a heaving sob, and for the MP for Meon Valley to suddenly have tears running clear onto his face.

  “Oh God. The poor kid. Jesus, the poor kid.” He was rubbing at his face with the back of his hand, but the tears were finding ways down the lines in his skin.

  Hanson produced a clean, folded handkerchief from somewhere in her pinstripe jacket, and he took it without a word. He used it to dab at his face.

  There were slightly heavy footsteps beyond the r
ear door to the room, and a brunette twentysomething with her hair in a braid and a pale-blue polo shirt ducked into the room. Polly, Jonah assumed.

  “All right if I take the car, Daddy?”

  “Yes.” Benham’s embarrassment increased visibly. He turned away from his daughter and lifted a hand in an effort to wave her away. “Yes, no problem. You going to see Pippa?”

  “Film with Greg.”

  “Fine. Fine.”

  Polly paused in the act of exiting the room once again. “You all right, Daddy?”

  “I’m absolutely fine, Polly. Have a nice evening.”

  Polly stood for a moment. She looked worriedly at Jonah and DC Hanson.

  Jonah tried to smile at her. Which seemed to be enough for now.

  “OK,” Polly said. “See you later.”

  She left, and Jonah heard her stomping around in the hall for a few moments before the front door closed with a slam.

  “I’m sorry to cause you distress, Mr. Benham,” Jonah said, sitting forward and letting his wrists dangle. It was difficult to assume a professional pose while feeling like he was about to slip off. “But we need to ask you a few questions.”

  “I’m not…Yes. Fire away. I suppose the investigation’s open again, then, is it?” He nodded, and folded his arms in front of him, but continued to look toward his feet. “That’ll please Tom, at least.”

  “Mr. Jackson?” Jonah asked. “You’ve kept in contact with him?”

  “A little. Not much latterly, to be honest. I lost my father two years ago, and now we have Mary’s mother to look after. But before that, when I had more time and energy, I kept up with them. Tom was always angry about how it all went.” He gave a sigh. “I suppose it’s difficult not to be angry when you’ve lost your daughter. But he felt the police had let them down.”

  Jonah remembered only too well. He’d been at Totton Station on more than one occasion when Tom had stormed in, rage and sadness turning his face pink between the wild hair and the equally wild beard.

  “We’re looking at new lines of inquiry now,” Jonah said with a glance at Hanson. “The position of the remains has raised questions. She was buried beside the river along with a stash of Dexedrine. We have reason to believe that the cache of drugs belonged to you.”

  Jonah had been watching Benham, and there was a void where there should have been a reaction. He was absolutely still, and for a good few seconds afterward he moved nothing but his eyes.

  The silence was broken by a single sound. “Ah.”

  Jonah watched the creases in his face, but kept his silence. “Can you confirm for us that the drugs belonged to you?” he said finally.

  Benham’s expression became pained. “I don’t know if I…What’s the relevance of the drugs? It’s not part of the investigation, is it? I don’t…it’s Aurora that matters. That’s what you want to know about. Aurora. Isn’t it?”

  Hanson glanced at Jonah, uncertain.

  “The drugs are directly relevant to our investigation of her death,” Jonah said levelly. Which was exactly the reverse of what he had said to Brett within the last hour. He could feel Hanson watching him.

  “I see.” Benham sat up a little and tucked his hands further round himself as if cold. “Then I think I’d better wait until I have a solicitor present. Don’t you think?”

  He sounded peculiarly regretful. But unmoving.

  “That’s for you to decide,” Jonah said, rising. “I am requesting your attendance tomorrow at Southampton Central Police Station at nine thirty A.M. You are not under arrest, but if you fail to attend then a warrant will be issued for your arrest.”

  * * *

  —

  JONAH FELT TIREDNESS descend in a rush as he sat in the passenger seat. He knew that he was getting to the stage of being sloppy now. He tried to weigh up the advantages of seeing them all tonight versus being effective.

  “I’m going to get O’Malley to update the Jacksons over the phone,” he said. “There’s no need for us to go there tonight. Connor and Topaz will know the score by now. O’Malley can tell the two of them to come into the station, and I can see them tomorrow.”

  “OK,” Hanson said, and he could hear the relief in her voice. She was probably thinking of home and the sofa as fondly as he was. “There wasn’t any reply from Coralie’s cellphone when I tried her, and she’s a hundred miles away. So it’s just…Jojo Magos to see tonight.”

  Jonah nodded, and before picking up his phone to call O’Malley said, “And I want you to take the lead on this one. Start to finish. OK?”

  Hanson smiled, a little flash of teeth in the dimness. “OK. Thank you.”

  10

  Aurora

  Friday, July 22, 1983, 8:00 P.M.

  She moved silently through the water, imagining that she was a serpent. Perhaps an eel. She was in shadow, and hoped she was as invisible as she felt.

  She could still hear his voice, and now could almost make out what he was saying.

  “…to see you here.”

  A sluggish bend let onto a stretch of open bank alongside a beech tree. The bank was bare except for two figures.

  Aurora felt a squeeze in her stomach seeing him there with Topaz. He was no longer wearing a suit or sports kit. Instead he wore a pale-blue checked shirt that made him look all the more tanned. Jeans and hiking boots. Sunglasses perched in his hair. A midsize backpack over his shoulders. All of it outdoorsy and effortlessly handsome.

  Topaz was smiling, her arms folded in front of her and a white beach bag slung on her shoulder. She had her weight on one hip, which let the other leg trail. There was something almost mocking about the pose.

  Aurora grabbed on to an exposed root. She anchored herself on it against the tugging current, breathless and dizzy.

  “We’re camping. We do it a lot. Want to see my tent?”

  “That’s kind of you, Topaz. But I have my own tent.”

  She wondered if she heard a light note of sarcasm in his voice, or if he was saying something more. Was it an invitation? She couldn’t see his face properly. She didn’t dare to move any closer or to let go of her grip. She felt she might be washed away.

  “Where are you camping? Close by?”

  He gave a small shrug. “A few miles farther on. I’ve got a few places in mind.”

  “It’ll be dark soon,” Topaz said. “You might get lost.”

  Aurora was sure he smiled at her when he said, “I know where I’m going. Don’t worry.”

  He moved toward her, past her, and Topaz only half moved out of the way.

  “You should come for a beer later,” she said. “Once you’re all set up. We’re only a little way from here.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind.”

  “Bye, Mr. Mackenzie!”

  He raised a hand but didn’t turn round. He kept moving, and ducked under the beech tree. Aurora realized at that point which tree it was. It looked different from the river, and the low-hanging branches masked the trunk and the hollowed-out store completely. She held her breath for a moment, expecting him to stop and say something. For the stash to be discovered. But he emerged at the far side, and kept walking along the bank and under another overhanging tree.

  Topaz moved only once he was gone. She unfolded her arms and took a brief look into her bag. She hitched it up her shoulder, and began to walk slowly back toward the camp.

  Aurora watched her go, and trod water for a full minute before she began to swim onward, away from her clothes and the sand bar, toward the retreating figure in the checked shirt.

  11

  It was fully dark before they had followed the GPS the thirty-five miles from Bishop’s Waltham to Jojo’s small, brightly colored cottage outside Fritham. Jonah recalled a much younger version of Jojo Magos and a nineteen-year-old version of himself in uniform.

  He remembere
d a pair of figures caught in the headlights of his squad car. The half-sprayed hammer and sickle and the bold writing on the side wall of a co-op. The way the two of them had looked round, startled, two short heads of hair illuminated and one hand flung up in front of a face.

  His sergeant had pulled the car up sharply, and Jonah had been climbing out by the time the two of them had dropped everything and run.

  “I’m after the big one!” his sergeant had shouted. Jonah had agreed with the choice. He relished the challenge of chasing down the nimbler, faster figure.

  He had almost tripped on a discarded sweater as he started his pursuit. He faltered, recognizing the black-on-white Guevara silhouette. His sergeant was ahead of him as he ducked back to pick it up, and then fixed his eyes on that small figure and ran after it down the high street.

  “Police!” the sergeant shouted. Woodman? Had that been his name? He was no longer quite sure. “Stop where you are!”

  Neither of them stopped. The bigger one turned down the Romsey Road. His sergeant almost overshot. He wasn’t made for agility. Jonah carried on straight, following that swifter form. The figure ahead of him turned to glance at him.

  About to make a turn, he thought, and smiled slightly as he watched her break suddenly right, down what he knew was a cul-de-sac.

  Jonah turned after her, only twenty feet behind now. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that he’d have her cornered. She didn’t disappoint. She flung herself at the garden fence at the end of the road, hands going up to grab and feet pushing off the wood until she was over.