by Carole Pitt
After they told him about the move, he'd familiarised himself with every snippet of information on his future colleagues. Knowing they'd view him as an unwelcome outsider he'd prepared for a hostile reaction. The reasoning behind his shift to the mainland focused on Cheltenham's CID needing a shakeup.
'It will do you good to get away from this city after everything that's happened,' the Chief Constable had told Yeats.
To date Yeats hadn't suffered any physical or mental problems during his nineteen year career. He'd always prided himself on his strength of will, his fearlessness and very rarely doubted his own judgement. Moving to England would definitely pose a challenge, but not one he relished. His familiarity with the UK extended to London and Yorkshire. He had never visited the West Country. Cheltenham, to him was home to the Gold Cup and as he wasn't a betting man had no desire to visit the place.
At first he'd balked at the idea and demanded. 'Why send me to a country backwater? If I have to go England, make it a big city where I can utilise my experience and skills. Deal with crimes I'm experienced at solving.’
The Chief Constable's answer hadn't convinced him. 'This is not about solving crimes; it's a caretaker's job, so see it as a different kind of challenge. You'll have time to recharge your batteries before you totally burn out. By the end of the year you'll be ready to move up and take on more responsibility here.'
'What's happened to force this vacancy?' he asked.
'DCS Daly's suffered family and health issues. Apparently he burned out. It's easily done, so be warned.'
'Did you know him personally?' Yeats had asked.
'No. He was due to retire then turned stubborn. Gloucestershire's CC had a long-standing battle with Daly. I imagine he wanted shot of him and found a sideways move. This is probably why Daly hasn't contacted any of his colleagues, he's too ashamed. The thing is, CID doesn't seem to know where he is either. Whether or not it's a deliberate ploy so Daly can free himself from the place once and for all, I'm undecided. All I know is they need someone urgently, someone entirely different to Daly and that's where you come in.'
Yeats had thought of refusing, but as time wore on and the pressure increased, it seemed he didn't have a choice. On a bad day, paranoia overtook him and suspicions about the real motives for sending him here played on his mind. Was it a case of simple blackmail? If you don't go we'll have to think again about your future. So far he'd been lucky, so in the end he hadn't argued, instead tried to focus on this new but temporary life.
A month before he was due to leave Belfast he started to feel impatient to go. He spent time researching Cheltenham and the surrounding areas. He was a city man and the countryside held no appeal. Finding a place to live proved difficult because he needed an isolated spot for obvious reasons. After a thorough search of the local estate agents he'd found a two hundred year old detached Cotswold stone property surrounded by a six foot perimeter fence. The garden was like a forest, overgrown trees and shrubs protected the house from prying eyes. Once he installed an up to date security system it would suit him perfectly. He'd lived on his own for so long that isolation didn't bother him. It also meant if anyone in Northern Ireland came looking for him, they'd find it difficult.
Ten minutes later Liam Yeats closed Elizabeth's personal police file. The week before leaving Belfast he'd checked her out. His first impression of Jewell wasn't favourable. Reading about her he came to the conclusion she was weak. One of those officers easily swayed and with questionable judgement. What he did find strange was although she was undoubtedly an extremely attractive woman he felt no sexual pull. Looking at the photograph he appreciated her beauty but it left him cold. As for the Wilson case, he'd already decided to bring both her and Patterson back on board. The Chief Crown Prosecutor wanted her on the case and her handling of the Faraday business would bring a newsworthy conviction for which he could take full credit. Regarding the BDSM angle, she'd built an excellent case in an area of crime where the laws were ambiguous. Although he didn't trust her, where Jewell was concerned the old adage, keep your friends close and your enemies closer made sense. If the last nineteen years had taught him anything, it was never to totally trust anyone.
Yeats glanced at the ship's clock, the only item belonging to Daly he hadn't replaced. He hadn't broached the subject of Daly's whereabouts with anyone yet, that could wait for a while. In the meantime, he looked forward to playing games with Jewell. Creating confusion was a powerful psychological ploy.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The reception area at Park Road police station reminded Elizabeth of a chaotic doctor's surgery.
What the bloody hell is going on? She thought, as she squeezed through the crowd of Grasmere Academy pupils causing mayhem.
She heard them all firing questions at Tom, the Desk Sergeant. 'How long will this take?' 'We all have stuff to do.' 'The police are useless.'
Other insults echoed around the room as Elizabeth remembered it was coming up to exam time or mocks, as they were referred to in her day. The poor sods had come in not realising Park Road police station wasn't big enough to accommodate this many in one sitting. For a moment, Elizabeth wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation.
Tom shouted over to her. 'This is nuts, who decided on this method?'
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. 'Take a guess.'
Tom murmured quietly. 'Yeats I suppose.'
Elizabeth nodded. 'Maybe this is how it's done in Belfast.'
She manoeuvered out of the throng and was on her way upstairs when an attractive dark haired woman stopped her. 'Do you work here?'
'Have you come to make a statement?' Elizabeth replied.
'I'm Jackie Kilmartin, head of art at Grasmere. This morning, uniformed officers were asking staff and students to voluntarily come here and make a statement. Surely the pupils should have been interviewed at home with their parents present?'
'I'm afraid I can't comment on this decision,' Elizabeth answered.
‘I really can't stay any longer. I've been here an hour.'
Where was Yeats and why had he allowed this madness? Elizabeth thought. 'Give me a couple of minutes and I'll come back to you.'
Elizabeth went behind the desk. The phone hadn't stopped ringing since she'd arrived. 'Tom, unlock the vending machine and give these people a drink. I know you've got a spare key squirreled away.'
'I'm not sure where I hid it.'
'Don't expect me to fall for that. See to the kids first. It might keep them occupied until I find Yeats. I'll mind the phone while you do it.'
Tom nodded and disappeared into a back room where Elizabeth knew he kept Park Road's duplicate keys. She answered two calls and placated two sets of neighbours complaining about loud music coming from a house next to the railway station. Tom returned, opened the machine and found himself surrounded. Elizabeth watched him as he handed out the freebies. It reminded her of a foreign aid worker distributing food to starving refugees. Within minutes, an eerie calm descended on the shabby reception area.
She scoured the room for Jackie Kilmartin but couldn't see her. Impatient to confront Yeats, she stomped up the stairs and entered his office without knocking. He glanced up at her and pointed to a chair then went back to studying his computer. Instead of sitting down, she positioned herself directly in front of him and placed her palms on the edge of his desk. Daly's presence hung in the air and the thought of never seeing him again filled her with dread.
'What do you want now Jewell? You can see I'm busy.'
'Not nearly as busy as Tom is downstairs. Reception's heaving. Whatever possessed you to suggest everyone came here?'
She expected him to throw her out, but he surprised her by answering. 'I was very specific. Eldridge was instructed to make appointments.'
'This isn't a dentist's,' Elizabeth said.
'Processing this lot in one day made sense. We're back to t
he target word again. Does it mean anything to you?'
Elizabeth ignored his question. If she embarked on a debate about targets, they'd be here for hours. 'Tell me, just who is going to interview them all? Why don't we ask the canteen staff and the cleaners to help out?'
'I suggest that if you've nothing better to do then sort it out yourself. Before you go, I believe you were at the CPS this morning. I'd like an update.'
Elizabeth gave him a précis of her meeting, emphasising the forensic examination of the suspect's accounts.
Yeats was complimentary for once. 'Good work. I'm in the middle of a crucial review report. I'll be down as soon as I'm finished. In the mean time perhaps you could interview Ms Kilmartin. She's asked for a female officer. Tom informed me she didn't want a man to interrogate her. Those were her exact words.'
'I was about to visit a firm of accountants in Montpelier. I also need a couple of crime scene techs to go back to the Faraday warehouse for a final check.'
'Organise Ms Kilmartin first. As head of the art department, she's our first priority. Most of those kids only came here to escape revising for their exams.'
So no empathy directed at the Grasmere students, why wasn't she surprised? Since his arrival at Park Road, his arrogance seemed to be getting worse. He expected other people to treat him with respect, but wasn't prepared to reciprocate. From the beginning it was a matter of pride, defending her position and that of her colleagues against someone who didn't give a shit about anyone. Now that he had a prime suspect, she expected him to bulldoze his way through the Wilson case.
Elizabeth took stock. For all she disliked Yeats intensely, maybe it was in her best interests to co-operate from now on. If there was any chance of changing the status quo, she was going to have to work at it. Not continually bitch about the situation. Due to the constant disruptions, morale was at an all time low. They all needed a stable period.
'I believe the students came here because they respected Keith Wilson. Some of them are visibly upset about his death. They're also scared because we haven't caught his killer.'
Yeats moved closer, too close. For the first time Elizabeth became fully aware of his height and strength. As she backed away he tried to narrow the gap, his voice and body language threatening. 'I'm trying to work and you still bang on about trivialities while Ms Kilmartin is waiting to impart important information about Wilson. Don't keep her waiting.'
She steadied her breathing before speaking. 'Does this mean I'm back on the case?'
Yeats checked his watch. 'Unfortunately, I've no choice. Start by recruiting anyone capable of taking statements. As for the CPS suggestions, find someone else to follow that up.'
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Elizabeth found Patterson moving into his minute office space. She told him about Yeats's change of mind and asked him to organise the interviews while she dealt with Kilmartin.
The head of Grasmere's art department was heading for the main exit when Elizabeth caught up with her. Rather than subject the woman to one of the miserable interview rooms she suggested they walk to Montpelier. At Wetheralls wine bar Elizabeth chose an outside table and went inside to place the order.
When she got back, Jackie Kilmartin took out her cigarettes and offered one to Elizabeth. 'I shouldn't,' she said, but took one anyway.
'That was badly organised,' Jackie said.' I thought the police usually kept everything under control.'
Elizabeth took a drag from her cigarette. 'I'm not defending our reputation but we have had problems. We got a new boss in March who operates differently to his predecessor.'
'Is he the tall Irish bloke?'
Elizabeth nodded and sipped her coffee.' I don't mean to intrude but I sense you're bothered about something.'
Jackie wiped away a tear.
'Were you close to Wilson?'
Jackie shook her head.
'No romantic involvement? I meant with you working together, it sometimes happens.'
'He wasn't my type. Our relationship was actually quite bad. He'd worked at Grasmere longer than I had. When the post for the head of art came up, I applied for it knowing Keith wanted it badly. Now I feel so guilty about the way I treated him. He wasn't a bad person, he had some strange ideas but he was patient with the kids, he was a good teacher. He was devastated when he lost out to me. I came along and took away his last opportunity for promotion.'
'It happens,' Elizabeth stated. 'You got the job because you were the right person. I wouldn't dwell on it too much.'
Jackie wiped away another tear. 'Can we get on?'
'This isn't a formal statement, more of a chat. We can do the formal stuff later. I thought it was better to get you away from your students. My boss says you have important information about Wilson.'
Jackie fiddled with her bag then stubbed out her cigarette only to light another. 'Keith collected unusual art. He had many interests, being an art teacher you would expect that, but he was obsessive about his collection. He was a competent artist himself but not a commercially viable one. He believed in painting for spiritual release. We had plenty of arguments about art and career choices in the art world. Keith wouldn't accept students needed commercial talents to get anywhere. He believed you were born an artist and no amount of teaching turned you into one. I think differently. Those who choose to follow the fine art path without any talent have no chance of doing well.'
Elizabeth needed to steer Jackie back on track. 'So what's this information?'
Jackie's hand shook as she picked up her coffee. 'It all started after I invited Jacob Morven to Grasmere.'
Over the years Elizabeth had learned how to interpret witness statements. Whether it helped solve crimes was another matter but in the field of forensic linguistics recent progress had helped officers identify individuals who consistently lied. Elizabeth was no expert, but had learned from experience. Studying body language wasn't a difficult science. If Jackie lied to her, she would know.
'Towards the end of the six weeks project on First Nations art everyone who took part had to do a five minute presentation about their work. Keith asked me if he could talk to them afterwards as he had something to show us. He seemed excited and upbeat, which was unusual for him. He brought in a box and made a performance about opening it and unwrapping what was inside. To me the object looked very unremarkable, a wooden mask with no eyeholes. Jade Harper made a big fuss about it, telling the rest of them how she'd seen a similar one in a museum during her trip to the North West area of British Columbia. She's a girl who likes to take centre stage, and boasted that she knew exactly where the mask originated from and how old it was. To be honest the rest of the students were fascinated and waited for Jade and Keith to tell them more, but he just clammed up and put the mask back in the box. Then the subject came up as to whether the mask was valuable. Keith wasn't going to answer but the kids pressured him. He admitted he didn't know which I thought was strange. Keith liked to brag when he had a captive audience so I assumed the mask was worthless apart from any intrinsic value. Jade kept badgering him, insisting it was worth quite a lot, which made me wonder how she really knew. Then Keith started to bang on about how his life was about to change and how he would give up teaching and bugger off. We all thought he was talking nonsense until he hinted it was to do with Morven. I suspected he was lying because he didn't even know the man. Anyway, it all blew over until the day before Morven's talk. Jade came to my office and told me the mask was very rare and I should make sure Keith had it valued. I asked her how she knew and she explained she'd seen a similar one on the internet, listed in one of Sotheby's auctions in New York. Someone had paid almost two million dollars for it. I should have spoken to Keith straightaway, but didn't and that's why I feel guilty.'
Elizabeth paused before answering, hoping to strike the right balance. 'You shouldn't feel guilty. There was nothing you could have done to prevent his
death.'
'You don't understand,' she said. 'I believe Keith did show the mask to Morven, and Morven killed him for it.'
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Elizabeth typed up Kilmartin's statement, asked her to sign it and decided to deliver it to Yeats personally. Any qualms over Morven's possible guilt were beginning to fade. Elizabeth had always tried to maintain an impartial viewpoint, a person was innocent until proved guilty but the circumstantial evidence was stacking up against the Canadian. Yeats was walking down the corridor looking smug.
'I think you should read this immediately,' she told him.
'Bring it in,' he said and marched ahead of her into his office. She wondered if he had any more post mortem or forensic details to share. Unless they found the mask and confirmed it was hugely valuable they couldn't use it as a motive for murder.
Elizabeth had thought through the possibilities. Wilson had intimated his life was about to change, which in her mind nearly always had something to do with money. If so, Wilson probably couldn't believe his luck when he heard about Morven coming. Here was a chance to ask an expert's advice on its provenance and value. What didn't make sense was why Wilson hadn't already let other experts see it. Cheltenham had a branch of Sotheby's, although all auctions were still held in London.
Yeats looked up and smiled. 'Sit down Liz, is it okay to call you Liz, or do you prefer Elizabeth?'
The smile and the words shocked her, she'd seen halfhearted ones on a few occasions but this was genuine. The man was a chameleon. 'Everyone else calls me Liz so I don't see why not. Does that mean I can drop the Sir, and use Liam?'
