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

by Carole Pitt

  She expected his smile to fade but it didn't. 'Of course you can.' He held out his hand. 'Let's have a look at this statement.'

  She sat quietly while he read, suspicious of this sudden change towards her.

  Yeats placed the document on his desk. 'No one found a mask matching that description. The only masks there belonged to the students, part of their Native American project.'

  'Do you believe the rest of it?'

  'I always keep an open mind regarding witness statements. We all know how time distorts reality. Most of it makes sense, except for the missing mask.'

  Elizabeth pushed her alternative theory. 'Kilmartin also had a strong motive. Wilson obviously hated her for beating him to the job and everyone knew he did. They argued a lot and you said it yourself, rows can escalate rapidly into violence.'

  'No trace evidence to link her to the scene, as yet,' Yeats stated.

  'Considering she worked in the damn place, I find that hard to believe.'

  'Liz, think about what you're saying. Dr Oakley is an excellent pathologist. I wouldn't accuse a scientist of her calibre of shoddy work practices. That's a conspiracy theory too far. From Grayson's records, I doubt he's as thorough. I've heard him described as slap-dash.'

  'Who said that?'

  'You know I can't reveal sources, it's confidential.'

  He'd spouted the usual crap to cover himself. Elizabeth realised she was wasting her time. His overtures at friendship weren't genuine. Yeats got his kicks from mind games and she'd let down her guard. It wouldn't happen again. 'I've no issues with Dr Oakley. As for Grayson being incompetent, if I was you I wouldn't repeat that statement.'

  Again, he ignored her and changed the subject. 'I'm not happy with the statements from the two cleaners. They were both upset at the time and weren't thinking straight. Go and talk to them. The older woman was very reticent. Considering she has worked at Grasmere for a long time and probably watches what goes on, I got the impression she was keepings things back. Where's Patterson?'

  Elizabeth stood up. 'He's still interviewing. You told me to recruit, so I did. How conclusive are the forensics?' she asked feeling suddenly defeated.

  'Morven has to account for the results. His fingerprints are on the murder weapon and Wilson's DNA is a perfect match to bloodstains found on his t-shirt. The lab used the latest techniques for lifting DNA from fabrics.'

  She felt none of her usual euphoria at apprehending a killer, just more doubts about Yeats's integrity. Despite his friendly words, she knew he still didn't trust her. In one way, that was a victory for her. She'd research Morven when she got home. Having personal information on him as an individual rather than as a suspect was important.

  Bloody Calbrain, she thought. If he hadn't got engaged to the Spanish lawyer I'd be on the phone right now. 'Any more in the local papers?' she asked Yeats.

  Elizabeth wasn't a great newspaper reader. If she spotted one or a magazine, lying around she'd pick it up and glance through it, but very rarely bought either.

  'Only what I authorised. It won't take long for them to come up with a name then the nationals will run with it. Morven's known to certain civil rights groups in the UK campaigning for Native Americans. Cheltenham, to my knowledge has no active groups.’

  Elizabeth's opinion was that the police often overlooked gathering intelligence on small political groups unless they took to the streets. She almost mentioned Stroud, a town where allegiances to high profile causes were widespread, especially environmental issues. He'd find out soon enough once the story spread to the national media.

  'Why rule out other people? Anyone of the staff or students could have killed Wilson.'

  Yeats sneered. 'Seven hundred pupils aged from eleven to eighteen plus the staff. The statistics for a pupil killing a teacher are extremely low. We work with facts and those facts tell us Morven had motive, means and opportunity. All we have to do now is prove it.'

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tuesday May 14th.

  The shabby indistinguishable streets caused Patterson to curse Elizabeth. 'What's this sudden aversion to the sat nav all about?'

  'I hate using it, that's why I gave you a piece of paper with the address on. Then you send me in the wrong direction.'

  'Come on, we've driven around this maze for ten minutes with no luck. You must have made a mistake. Libby Hall lives on the Tewksbury Road, let's go there.'

  'No. I want to talk to Janet Baker first. Libby found Wilson and Yeats is convinced the older woman didn't tell everything. Imagine what he'll do if I don't follow instructions.'

  Patterson spotted a cul-de-sac, tucked away behind mature beech trees. 'This looks as if it could be the place. Did you ring ahead?' he asked.

  'No, we’re using the surprise visit tactic. Morven might be the prime suspect but Yeats wants more. He's the type who would plant evidence to get a conviction.'

  Patterson sighed as she pulled on the handbrake. 'Cops don't do things like that in this country.'

  'Don't be so bloody green Tony.'

  'Okay, I'm too trusting but it sounds like he's got a good case. Why get all worked up over this Canadian bloke. If I didn't know better I'd say you fancy him.'

  'I barely saw the man. In fact I don't even think I got a proper look at him, so quit making stupid remarks.'

  Patterson tried a different approach. 'As soon as I've got some time I'll start on your project. We need a juicy sex scandal, proof that Yeats uses prostitutes.'

  'We should be careful where we discuss Yeats in future. I wouldn't put it past him to bug my car and house.'

  'When did your paranoia surface again? Why don't you tell me what's wrong? I'm a good listener.'

  Elizabeth knew he was right so she told him about Calbrain.

  'Bloody hell, I wonder what prompted him to get engaged so quickly?'

  'I haven't a clue. I was under a stupid illusion he still fancied me.'

  'Be honest. You didn't exactly encourage his attentions.'

  Elizabeth slumped back into her seat.' I know it's my own fault, but as they say in all the songs, it's too late now.'

  'If it's any consolation, I doubt he'll go through with it.'

  'What makes you think that?' Elizabeth asked.

  'I reckon he's done it to make you jealous.'

  'You're wrong,' she pulled up, got out of the car and walked off.

  Patterson sighed. Next time he dropped by Calbrain's place to see Hannah he'd find out more. The keys were still in the ignition. He locked the Saab and checked the house numbers. Elizabeth was standing on a grassy area in the middle of the square talking to a small child. Patterson could never understand why parents allowed children as young as two or three to go outside unsupervised. He glanced at the gardens; they were fenced off and large enough for youngsters to play in safely.

  Elizabeth held the little boy's hand and led him onto the pavement. 'Wait there until I take this child back. He says he lives in the next road.'

  Patterson bent down and tried a friendly smile.

  The boy had closely cropped hair and was wearing the latest designer tracksuit. He looked nearer to three. 'Go away mister,' the child shouted at him. 'Or dad bashes you up.'

  Patterson stood up. God help the kid's mother when she's confronted with Liz, he thought as he watched her disappear around a corner.

  Ten minutes later Janet Baker invited them into her kitchen and switched the kettle on immediately. As always, when they visited people's homes tea was on offer. Even police officers found it difficult to refuse a cuppa and a selection of biscuits. At first glance, Patterson thought she was hard faced and unfriendly. According to their records she was sixty-five but appeared much older, the kind of worn down weariness caused by a tough life with no prospect of it ever changing. Although from the interior, he could see she aspired to better things. The p
lace was immaculate, so whatever she'd earned, she'd spent wisely. The furniture and fittings were chosen carefully. She had good taste.

  Her inflexible edge was probably more to do with living on this estate, renowned for social problems. He guessed she didn't like it here; hence, the inside was a reflection of her ambitions. Even to himself he sounded like a snob, hypocritical really, considering he too had lived on a similar estate, except in a better area. His parents had bought the house as soon as Maggie Thatcher decided everyone needed to get on the property ladder.

  Elizabeth sat down and eased her way into the interview. She hadn't mentioned the little boy, which meant she'd had no major concerns. Patterson assumed a quiet word with the mother about proper supervision would have been sufficient.

  Janet Baker was immediately defensive. 'I don't know what else I can tell you. I thought I'd covered everything last Friday. There's a rumour you've caught the person responsible. Is it true?'

  'We can't disclose details about the investigation. I'd also advise you not to believe stories in the papers. They often get their facts completely wrong,' Elizabeth answered.

  'I'm not stupid Inspector.'

  'I didn't suggest you were. Why don't you sit down Mrs Baker? I'd like you to go through your first statement again. Witnesses to horrendous events often forget important details due to being traumatised.'

  Janet pulled up a chair, sat down and gazed out the kitchen window. Patterson watched her lips move as if she was practising what to say. This was a difficult stage in any interview. Often people said more than they needed and at other times too little. Which meant either they thought they were good liars or genuinely didn't know anything helpful. It wasn't always easy to spot which it might be.

  Elizabeth took a biscuit from the plate. 'Try and remember.'

  'I'm sure what I told you before was correct except I'm still confused over the noises I heard. Whether it was the murderer breaking in, or I imagined it.'

  'You didn't see anyone.'

  'I don't suffer from hallucinations, if that's what you're getting at. I'm nervous such a lot these days and jump at the slightest sound.'

  'Are you poorly?' Elizabeth asked.

  'Stress, from family problems, and I'm tired. I want to retire.'

  Patterson continued, 'You're leaving Grasmere I believe.'

  'I've only got two more weeks.'

  'Has the job stressed you out? Has anyone at Grasmere caused you problems?'

  'I shouldn't say this but Libby has a hard time with those lads. I've had to listen to all the problems she's had with them for months now. They're a couple of layabouts, they don't do anything to help her and she never has any money. They bleed her dry.'

  'Is she married?' Patterson asked.

  'The husband buggered off with another woman, and never contacts his kids. They need a strong man to take them on but Libby isn't interested in finding anyone else. She struggles financially.'

  'Do you help her out?' Elizabeth asked.

  'I lend her money now and again. She's very proud and would never ask.'

  'Does Libby do a day job?'

  'She works in the pub down by the station four days a week. That causes trouble, those lads get up to no good while she's out slogging. When I think how hard she works, all for them and they treat her so badly. I wouldn't put up with it. My daughter's a single mother and that doesn't please me either.'

  Elizabeth wondered about the mask but Janet started describing Libby's screams, then seeing her covered in blood. 'At first I wasn't sure if it was the spilled paint, maybe she'd fallen over and put out her hands. Everything's a blur now.'

  'When you entered Mr Wilson's office did it appear as if someone had been searching for something?'

  'At first I thought it was a burglary. Money's kept on the premises but I don't know where. There's plenty of valuable equipment to steal, computers, special equipment for science and sport. You're cops; you know these scumbags will steal whatever is easy. Some of them aren't too fussy what they take.'

  Did you notice if any of Mr Wilson's personal effects were missing?'

  'I would have noticed. I've seen the same things in the same place for years and would definitely know if something was out of place or missing.'

  'That's great,' Elizabeth said. 'That helps us a lot.'

  'Are all the classrooms and offices locked at night?' Patterson asked.

  'Not always because people forget. Grasmere's a big school and should have more cleaning staff. There's only one morning cleaner and she checks the toilets and locker rooms. Her shift starts at six, but she's been away on holiday for about ten days. So she wasn't a work on Friday morning. Libby and me do the evenings. Contract companies come in once a month over the weekend, but they're not due for another two weeks. All those keys floating about, anybody could sneak in and stay overnight without us realising.'

  'Janet,' Elizabeth's voice was serious. 'Did you suspect Libby when you saw her running from the scene?'

  Patterson noticed Janet's shock at the question. Her face twisted in anger as she moved towards the door. 'Libby wouldn't harm anyone, ever. I've tried to help and this is what I get in return, snide comments about a good friend. I'd like you to leave now.'

  'It's normal procedure, 'Elizabeth explained. 'Libby discovered the body. She was the last person to see the victim alive apart from the killer. It's best we eliminate her from any suspicion. Do you know if she's at home?'

  'I've no idea Inspector. You'll have to go there and find out.'

  Janet hurried towards the hall ahead of them. In the sitting room, a corner display cabinet caught Patterson's attention. He moved towards it just as Janet turned her head. 'If you're so interested in my ornaments I suggest you ask me about them.'

  Patterson shook his head. 'I was only paying attention because my great aunt had a similar piece of furniture.'

  Janet let them out and slammed the door.

  Elizabeth and Patterson stood on the corner watching a group of small children playing on the central grass. The same little boy was amongst them. Patterson checked out the other houses. Most looked respectable enough except for the gardens where rubbish had piled up waiting for the council collection. The cul-de-sac wasn't too rundown; certainly not as bad as the far end where most of the troublemakers lived.

  Elizabeth pointed to the children. 'My advice fell on deaf ears. Some of these mothers don't deserve kids.'

  'You could always contact social services,' Patterson suggested.

  'And what good would that do? That woman is definitely scared of someone or something.'

  'If Libby murdered Wilson, Janet would have known,' Patterson replied.

  'I don't think we can rule either of them out.'

  'The stuff in the cabinet, I caught a quick glance, they're dark wood African carvings. Not cheap looking ones either.'

  'She might have relatives in Africa and they send presents. Anyway you can buy stuff like it all over the place. What are you getting at?'

  'I spotted a little wooden mask.'

  'Tony, it is probably from the pound shop. Come on, we better find Libby's place.'

  Patterson turned back to look at the house. 'I reckon she's on the phone right now warning her. What's the bet when we get there she isn't in.'

  Elizabeth's mobile rang. She stared at the screen. 'Bloody hell it's Calbrain. I can't speak to him now.'

  'I think you should, you don't want another ongoing feud. If he ever splits with the Spanish woman he'll need a friend.'

  Elizabeth had pressed the call button and waved him away. He wandered back to the Saab, curious to know what Calbrain wanted.

  A few minutes later Elizabeth got into the driver's seat. 'He proposes we meet on Thursday.'

  Patterson grinned. 'That was a bloody quick engagement.'

  'It's
not about him and me. He said it's about Jacob Morven.'

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The southern end of the housing estate was distinctly more downtrodden. Some of the small front gardens were unkempt and used as a dumping site for household furniture or car parts. Patterson pointed to the left turn leading to the street where Libby Hall lived with her two sons.

  'I bet she either isn't in, or won't answer the door,' he said.

  'The lads might be, though right now I'm not looking forward to tackling teenage boys.'

  'Leave that to me, I was a teenager once.'

  'I can't possibly imagine it,' Elizabeth said.

  'I was a pain in the arse,' Patterson laughed. 'Look at this place. How can people live like this?'

  'Stop being such a snob. All big towns and cities have these areas. Cheltenham is no exception.'

  'It's like two different worlds only a mile apart.'

  'At least we only have one really rough area and the council is changing its old policy of sticking all the problem families together. Now they spread them about hoping that the respectable tenants will influence them.'

  Number fourteen wasn't much better than the other properties. The gate was hanging off and the garden resembled a wasteland. Elizabeth looked at the dingy net curtains at the window and wondered why Libby didn't tidy the place.

  They walked up the pathway avoiding the litter strewn across it. A torn black bin bag had spilled its rubbish and no one had bothered to pick it up.

  'I hope there isn't a dog,' Patterson said.

  Elizabeth kicked a lager can out of the way. 'I thought you liked dogs.'

  'Not the designer ones. Do we know where the ex husband or partner is?'

  'Left the area apparently, he might be worth checking out though.'

  Suddenly loud music belted out. Elizabeth looked up at the open front bedroom window. 'Somebody's having a sneaky fag,' Patterson said.

  'Someone's turned up the music as an excuse for not opening the door.'

  Patterson lifted his hand to the glass panel. 'They're not stupid, they know who we are. What's the plan if they won't answer?'