The Cedar Face: DI Jewell book 3 (DI Elizabeth Jewell)

by Carole Pitt

  Jade closed her sore eyes as her headache began to ease. She turned onto her side, shaded her eyes with her hand and tried to think clearly. Yesterday had been a nightmare, which was why she had needed the alcoholic oblivion. Now the police were at the Academy so it wouldn't be long before they came knocking on her door. The prospect of losing her university place didn't bear thinking about. On top of that, if her parents discovered half of what she'd done they would probably throw her out onto the street. She gazed back at the eighteenth century house set in an acre of garden and imagined living in a disgusting bedsit on the edge of town.

  The kitchen phone started its annoying ringtone. Swigging the last of the vodka, she stumbled across the grass and reached it just before the answer machine kicked in.

  'Morning gorgeous,' Duncan Mortimer said.

  'What the hell do you want? I've got a blistering hangover so piss off.'

  'As it's going to be a hot day, I thought we could find a secluded spot and carry on where we left off.'

  Jade didn't want to antagonise him, nor did she want to encourage him. Too many friends had deserted her over the last few months. As her popularity dwindled, more had followed suit and hanging on to the last of her supporters was proving difficult.

  She switched to her baby voice, as her father called it. 'Seriously I feel yuk. Why don't we leave it until tomorrow? I'll call you in the morning.'

  'Okay babe. Make sure you do. Jed took some explicit shots of us on his phone. You wouldn't want your dad to see them.'

  Jade was horrified. Now she was in even deeper trouble. The culture of videoing or photographing friends indulging in sex was common, but naïvely she'd never thought it would happen to her.

  'Don't threaten me Duncan or you'll regret it. Remember my father is well connected.'

  'It depends on what you call connected,' he laughed. 'Rumours suggest your daddy mingles with unsavoury types. Although I guess he might have a few friends in high places. I've seen him in the Queens Hotel drinking with a cop. That's probably how he stays out of jail.'

  Jade desperately wanted to end the conversation. 'All right, pick me up tonight about seven and make sure you bring a bottle with you.'

  Before going upstairs, she filled up the glass again and changed into a black bikini. If she had to lie down she may as well improve her tan. Stretched out under the hot sun Jade wondered why she'd chosen to study at Grasmere Academy. Her parents had insisted she enroll at Cheltenham Ladies College. Even at eleven years old Jade had showed a rebellious streak. She'd attended a state primary school where her popularity began. When the time came to move to secondary education, all of her close friends chose Grasmere. The last thing she wanted was to spend seven years with girls who were richer and more beautiful. At Grasmere she would stand out. Her father had warned her that one day she would bitterly regret her decision. If only she'd listened to him. She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of why things seemed to be going terribly wrong, but facing up to reality bored her and she dozed off.

  Half an hour later, the sound of a car door banging disturbed her. Jade opened her eyes to see her mother rushing across the lawn. 'Go and put some clothes on right now. There's a youngish man at the door asking to see you.'

  Jade felt the panic again. Duncan must have come over to cause trouble. He was a rotten bastard and she vowed for the umpteenth time to stop seeing him. The trouble was he excited her, unlike the other two guys she was sleeping with. 'I'm not feeling too good, tell whoever it is to go away.'

  Christine Harper grabbed her daughter's arm and yanked her to her feet. 'You're not ill. How many times have I warned you about binge drinking? One of these days you'll end up in hospital, or worse. You're nothing better than a nymphomaniac Jade Harper. No wonder you have no girlfriends left.'

  Jade turned on the tears, which was hardly difficult considering her state of mind. 'Stop it Mummy or I'll end up having one of my panic attacks.'

  'Stay there and I'll send him over,' her mother capitulated. 'Why waste my breath on a common slut and why should one extra bloke seeing you half naked matter?'

  'Who is it anyway?' Jade asked and got to her feet but it was too late, her Mother was beckoning to a tall redheaded bloke who was walking towards her. She wished she wasn't wearing the bikini or had brought a towel to cover up.

  'He wasn't smiling as he approached. 'You're Jade Harper?' He asked.

  She nodded, and sat back down.

  'I'm DC Eldridge from Park Road police station. I believe you attend Grasmere Academy.'

  Jade nodded again, and wondered why she couldn't speak.

  'I need to question you about yesterday afternoon. I'm assigned to the investigation into the murder of Keith Wilson.'

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sunday 12th May

  Elizabeth turned up the radio to hear the one o' clock news and weather forecast. If yesterday was unseasonably warm, the temperature today was set to rise even more. She opened the French doors leading into the garden and noticed Bagpuss, her adopted marmalade cat, sunning himself on the lawn. Because it was a beautiful day she filled his bowls and took them outside.

  'Room service,' she mimicked and stroked his large head. 'When you've scoffed this lot you might consider going for a long walk across the fields, or climb a few trees. On second thoughts don't climb any trees; I wouldn't want to lose my friends in the Fire Service.'

  Sleeping until ten had left her feeling energised despite the scary run through Cresswell woods. From the moment she'd set foot inside the creepy dank atmosphere Elizabeth had regretted her crazy impulse to avoid the press. The night had clouded over and with no moon to break up the forbidding darkness she'd started running immediately. By the time she reached the street she'd had to stop for five minutes to get her breath back. One or two pedestrians had given her odd looks as she leaned against a wrought iron fence clutching her chest. She was glad Patterson had rescued her.

  Rather than lie in and waste her day, Elizabeth set to. The bird feeders needed filling up and the birdbath cleaning out. It was a good day to tackle mundane jobs. She spent half an hour on bird maintenance then sat on the patio and scrutinised the garden. Her own efforts the previous summer had been disappointing. Then in early March she'd overheard two of her neighbours complaining about her overgrown hedges and piles of rubbish so she'd hired someone to do the heavy work, a local gardener called Gerry Redwood. Not that they'd complained to her.

  'Because I'm a cop,' she'd told Gerry, 'they daren't say anything to my face.'

  Now she was tempted to invite them over to see the transformation. She prodded the soil in one of the pots and dutifully filled up her new watering can. The cost of the plants and Gerry's wages had made a dent in her household budget but the results were well worth it. Last year she'd tried planting up patio containers but hadn't bothered to feed or water them. Having Gerry to remind her made a difference.

  She wandered over to Bagpuss. 'I might cut the grass later.' she told Bagpuss, who opened one eye to confirm he'd heard.

  Back indoors, Elizabeth noticed the sitting room door was slightly open and she could hear snoring. She poked her head in and saw Patterson sleeping on the sofa. When she'd gone up to bed, a little the worse for wear, he'd assured her he would ring for a taxi. At two in the morning she'd come downstairs for water to stave off the inevitable hangover and saw Patterson fast asleep on her sofa.

  She'd just unhooked a large frying pan and placed it on the stove when the phone rang. Her first instinct was to ignore it but too many years policing said otherwise.

  When she heard the voice at the other end her heart lurched.

  'I want you and Patterson in my office in half an hour,' Yeats said.

  'I'm taking the day off. Check the rota, I have at least a month's leave owing.'

  Yeats sounded furious. 'Wilson's murder is headlines in the national press. Everyone co
mes in unless they’re seriously ill and Patterson's not answering my calls. Where he is?'

  Sorry, I don’t know, I've just got out of bed, you'll have to keep trying,' she replied.

  'Half an hour Jewell,' he ordered.

  Elizabeth allowed herself a smile. 'I'll think about it,' she said and hung up.

  While she cooked the bacon and eggs, Liam Yeats dominated her thoughts, but this time with no ill effect. His criticism of Park Road's morale had some justification, not that she would ever admit he had a point. There had been occasions when even she'd despaired, especially during January. Daly had seemed unusually preoccupied and it wasn't necessarily about the Steele investigation. However, for the most part her team had pulled together despite a limited budget. Gloucestershire might have its fair share of wealthy residents, but it was still a predominantly rural county and couldn't command large amounts of government support unlike big cities.

  Why the powers chose Yeats to take over from Daly baffled Elizabeth. Redeployed officers were common enough if there was a temporary gap to fill. Or even a permanent one. She'd worked alongside officers from all over the UK without any problems. The Daly situation had shocked and surprised everyone. Yes, he'd constantly prevaricated over exactly when he intended to retire. Elizabeth had become so accustomed to his indecision she assumed he would hang on until the brass kicked him out. Leaving without any warning had fuelled plenty of conspiracy theories. The official explanation was worse than vague. DCS Daly had a family crisis, which only he could sort out. Since the middle of February, no one from Park Road had seen him, or if they had they'd kept quiet about it. Each time a solution occurred to her no amount of analysis resulted in a logical answer to the mystery. Out of respect for her previous boss and his wife, she'd refrained from using her usual scheming methods to locate his whereabouts. She glanced in the pan and moved it away from the heat before the breakfast burned. Last night she'd listened to Patterson's justified hostility against Yeats and the indignity of returning to a desk job. In the past, he hadn't always taken kindly to some of her wild ideas. When she'd outlined a plan, he hadn't uttered one word of protest. As he pointed out, research was one of his talents and he was clever at covering his tracks. Whatever olive branch Yeats was offering she was determined to dig into his past. Everyone had something to hide, and Yeats was no exception.

  The smell from the kitchen had obviously drifted into the sitting room and woken Patterson. She heard him sorting himself out before shuffling into the kitchen. 'That smells great. I was lying there feeling miserable about my new status. Then I smelled the fry up, the best remedy for severe depression.'

  'I don't think the bacon and eggs will cure it this time. Yeats wants to see us in half an hour.'

  'What for?'

  'My laptop's on. Check the online news.'

  Patterson punched a few keys. 'I see what you mean. Typical alarmist headlines, "SPA TOWN DEMANDS ANSWERS. KIDS TO STAY AT HOME. MURDER AT FLAGSHIP ACADEMY", and so they go on.'

  'That'll do it.' Elizabeth said as she transferred the contents of the frying pan onto plates. 'We can always defy Yeats,' she suggested.

  'Yeats has given Katie Gardiner a lot more responsibility. Watch her lord it over me from now on. Then Eldridge will follow suit. The two of them will make my life a misery.'

  'Okay, we'll go. I can't have those two bossing you about.'

  'I don't trust her now. She's ambitious and will hitch her wagon to anyone who can advance her career. She's not likely to put a foot wrong with Yeats.'

  'You forget I recommended her for CID. Only the other day she thanked me for my support.'

  Elizabeth looked at him carefully. Apart from his bleary eyes he appeared well. He'd lost his bulk due to the ban on playing rugby. She knew he missed the game, but after his head injury, the consultant had forbidden any sport for a year.

  'There are hundreds of girls in Cheltenham Tony. For God's sake, go out and find one. You had your chance and didn't take it.'

  Patterson had wolfed down half of his breakfast. 'Can I use your shower? I don't want to look like a quivering wreck in front of Yeats.'

  Elizabeth grinned. 'Let's hope he'll be the quivering wreck one day. Then he'll be glad to get back to Belfast.'

  Twenty minutes later Patterson knocked on Yeats' door but there was no answer. 'He's deliberately keeping us waiting,' Elizabeth moaned.

  'I need another coffee and a Twix. Do you want anything?' Patterson asked.

  'How can you manage a Twix after the breakfast I laid on?'

  'Sugar Liz, it keeps the tremors away.'

  'Okay.' Elizabeth rummaged in her bag and retrieved her purse. She handed Patterson three pound coins. 'Make that two Twix bars and I'll have a Cappuccino.

  Patterson was about to go when Yeats stormed along the corridor. He ignored them and barged into the office. They followed him in and waited for him to speak. Elizabeth studied the man's body language carefully. He appeared tense and irritable as he sat down in front of his laptop. 'I can't spare very much time. We have a major development in the Wilson murder.'

  Elizabeth experienced the familiar adrenaline rush. 'Do you mean a suspect?'

  'Yes Inspector Jewell, we have a suspect. Why should that surprise you? Don't tell me, I know, because this has happened within twenty-four hours. Not a scenario you're familiar with.'

  'Less than twenty-four hours in this instance is surprising, Sir. May I ask who the suspect is?'

  Yeats tapped a key on his laptop then stood up. 'Listen. I'm willing to meet both of you halfway but you have to accept Daly ran a sloppy HQ and I want everything tightened up. He should have retired and left without tarnishing his service record. But he was too stubborn, let that be a lesson.'

  'Who's the suspect?' Elizabeth asked

  'A Canadian called Jacob Morven, here on an educational exchange to talk about First Nation culture. He arrived in the UK three weeks ago and is due to fly back to Vancouver next Wednesday. He's spent the time touring a few Gloucestershire schools. Yesterday was the Grasmere Academy's turn. According to a witness statement, he was the last person to see Keith Wilson alive. We have probable cause to warrant bringing him in for questioning. I'm expecting an email from Dr Oakley soon on the initial post mortem results. Until we have confirmation on the other forensics, I've got Morven under surveillance. If he decides to leave the country before Wednesday, we'll stop him.'

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth. 'I hope you don't mind me saying, but aren't you jumping the gun?'

  'Let me repeat, Morven, by all accounts was the last person to see the victim. What does that usually signify?'

  'We rule them out or rule them in,' Patterson said

  'Did you check for any criminal record?' Elizabeth asked.

  Yeats glowered and Elizabeth realised her mistake. A man with a history of dealing with terrorist attacks wouldn't overlook such basic procedure.

  'I phoned and spoke to a senior officer in his hometown. Morven's a high profile political campaigner for the Nisga'a peoples. Two fines for minor offences, probably traffic. He's sending me the details.'

  'How did they take the news?'

  Yeats seemed reluctant to answer her question. 'Extremely surprised and talking about sending two of their officers over here.'

  He handed Elizabeth a folder. 'This is an interim report on common failures at Park Road. Study it carefully. I want a plan for implementing improvements by Monday. We'll look at the more serious statistics next week. My overall impression is that your team doesn't seem to understand the meaning of the word target. Maybe it's time you enlightened them.'

  Elizabeth knew it was pointless defending her position. 'I'll start on it tonight. I had plans for today.'

  He couldn't object and he knew it. If he'd hauled most of the squad in, she wouldn't be needed.

  'As long as I see changes by the end of the month.'
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  Elizabeth took a sideways glance Patterson. She wondered why he hadn't said anything else. She looked down at her feet encased in black suede court shoes. They weren't exactly stiletto heels and certainly not as lethal but would do the job. She inched closer to him, slid her foot towards his, and stood firmly on his toe.

  Patterson didn't even flinch, but he got the message. He leaned against the wall and wiped his hand over his eyes. 'I knew a few staff members at Grasmere. I didn't go there but loads of my mates did. Wilson was a nice bloke and it was a shock when I heard what happened. I hope you've got the right person.'

  'I'm not obliged to keep you up to date Sergeant if that's what you're after. Hasn't it sunk in that you're not on the case?'

  Elizabeth had had enough. 'Why did you ask Tony to come in just to humiliate him. You've given us our orders, so if that's all, I'm off back home.'

  She made for the door and Patterson followed. Yeats had remodelled Daly's office well but had overlooked the broken door hinge. She remembered slamming it on numerous occasions after they'd rowed. Looking back it was a miracle it hadn't fallen off long before now. Patterson went out first and Elizabeth grabbed the handle tight. This time, with a bit of luck, it would.

  'Wait,' Yeats shouted. Someone overheard Morven arguing with Wilson at around two thirty that afternoon. And the murder weapon wasn't a knife, it was a carving tool used by Nisga'a people. Wood carving tools are easy to buy here but I checked it out and this particular one isn't available in the UK. I tracked it down to a Native American gallery in Vancouver. So add this up. Morven resides in British Columbia. He flew from a place called Terrace to Vancouver where he stayed for two days before boarding a flight to Heathrow. You're detectives, work it out.'