“Here you go.” Zack returned after a couple of minutes with the coffees, and found that the curious constable was once again seated on the sofa, as if she hadn’t moved.
“Thanks.” Melissa lifted the mug she was handed straight to her lips, and let out a satisfied sigh after taking a sip. “Oh, that’s good. Strong and sweet, just the way I like. This isn’t cheap coffee, is it; it’s much better than I’m used to.”
Zack smiled. “I’m glad you like it. And no, it’s not cheap coffee. I spent years living on cheap coffee when I was a detective, and longer putting up with the fancy teas my wife insisted on. She’d go out of her way to buy the nastiest-smelling teas because they were the latest fad, but would just get whatever coffee came to hand for me. The only time I got good coffee was when I bought it myself; now I’m doing all my own shopping, I make sure I always have good quality coffee.”
“I can see why; I’m gonna be reluctant to go back to the cheap stuff,” Melissa said. “I want to ask how much this stuff costs, but I’m sure the price’ll scare me.”
“Why don’t you ask the question that’s been on your mind since you got here instead,” Zack suggested. He had not missed the way her gaze kept straying to his chest, and it was not hard for him to work out why. “You want to know about my scars, don’t you.”
Melissa’s cheeks reddened, but she didn’t deny that she wanted to know about them. She took several long swallows of her coffee to give herself time to collect her thoughts, only then did she speak. “They are pretty nasty looking, and definitely hard to miss. How did you get them?”
“I was young and stupid,” Zack answered without hesitation. “I got them in a bar fight.” It was not something he was proud of, but neither did he shy away and try to pretend it had not happened. He saw the constable’s curiosity was not satisfied, so he expanded. “I was having a drink in a pub, celebrating an arrest, and drank a few too many; there was a group of lads there, they’d had way too much to drink and were giving the barmaids, and pretty much every other woman in there, a lot of hassle. There was four of them, and I was on my own, but I was feeling pretty cocky so I confronted them.”
Zack watched the constable as he related his story, and was amused to see that she was hanging on his words as though he was telling a spellbinding story.
“It started off as just words, but soon enough one of them pulled a knife, and another was smashing a bottle to attack me with. By the time it was all over, me and the two guys who attacked me were on our way to hospital, and I was left with the scars you saw. They got lucky on the scars front, but not so lucky on the staying out of jail side of things – they both went down for attempted murder, eight years apiece.”
“Wow, you must be a really good fighter to beat four guys in a fight,” Melissa said admiringly.
“Not really,” Zack said with a shake of his head. “I got lucky. Besides, only two of them were actually fighting, the other two backed off when things got physical, and they were so drunk they didn’t really know what they were doing. Even so, I was lucky to get away with just a few scars.” He was all too aware of exactly how lucky he was – he had been left with a punctured lung that cost him over a month in hospital “Since we’ve broached the subject of your curiosity when it comes to me, why don’t you go ahead and ask me whatever else it is you want to know,” he invited.
Melissa was a little taken aback by the offer, just as she had been by Zack Wild’s ready admission that he had been involved in a pub fight – the incident had been mentioned in the summary of his personnel file, but she had not expected him to admit it or explain it. She couldn’t let the opportunity pass.
“How did you go from being a detective to being an author? A pretty successful one as well, from what I’ve discovered.”
Zack was sure that was not all the constable had discovered about him, though he doubted she had found out anything that might be a problem for him.
“I guess you could say it’s something I fell into,” he said. “I was assigned to help CID with research when I was a young constable, and I stumbled on a cold case that got stuck in my mind – I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I went over the file and learned everything there was to know, then I investigated on my own time. It turns out I’m a better than average investigator - before long I’d solved a thirty-year-old murder.” He spoke of it in the tone of someone who considered what he had done nothing significant. “The story got in the paper, I got promoted to sergeant, and a friend of my ex-wife’s came knocking – she works for a publishing company, and thought the story of how I solved the case would make a good true crime book.
“I wasn’t sure, either that it would make a good book, or that I wanted to write one, but Paula can be pretty convincing when she wants to be; she talked me into doing the book, talked her boss into giving me a contract for the book, with a small advance, and then she showed me how to structure the narrative and everything else I needed to know to write a book - when I started the book, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. The book did surprisingly well, much better than any of us expected, and Paula’s boss offered me a deal for a second cold case I was working on in my spare time; that time I had a better idea of what I was doing, so my notes were easier to turn into a book.” His coffee was all but cold by then, but his throat was dry, so he drank it anyway. “Paula’s boss wanted a third book when the second did better than the first, but I didn’t have another cold case to write about, I did have an idea for a detective novel with a character I created – he liked the idea and gave me the contract.
“Paula had a falling out with my ex-wife around that time, and wasn’t able to help me after that; fortunately, she had taught me enough to write the book without her help. I wrote several more books after that, some fiction and some true crime; each one did better than the others, and when I got divorced, I decided to make several changes in my life. The biggest was to resign from the police and take up writing full time.”
“You must be doing pretty well at it,” Melissa said, “to be able to afford a new house and a fancy car, that Aston Martin must have cost you a pretty penny, after getting divorced.”
Zack shrugged. “Probably not as well as you think, not yet anyway. I’m doing alright, but royalty payments are always at least six months behind, so I’ve got a while to go before my bank account looks healthy again, especially after the number Cathy did on it during the divorce. When the money comes in I’ll be able to get myself sorted, until then, I’m only getting by.”
17
Mitchell was not sure what to think as he walked down the path and made his way around to the house next door, where he knocked loudly. It was typical, he thought, that this should be the one time that Constance was not to be found pottering in her garden. He had to knock three times, and wait for a couple of minutes, before he got a response.
“Lewis,” Constance Hawkins greeting her visitor when she opened the door. “What can I do for you? There’s no problem, is there?”
“Hello, Constance,” Mitchell returned the greeting. “Have you got a minute, I need to ask you a few questions about your neighbour.”
“Mr Wild?” Constance had never been slow on the uptake, and she quickly put together the sergeant’s earlier visit in search of Zack Wild with his presence on her doorstep.
“That’s right. Do you mind?” Mitchell made a gesture intended to suggest they go inside. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable if we do this in the living room, where you can sit down.”
“Okay, Lewis, what is it you want to ask me?” Constance asked once the two of them were seated.
“First off, and I know I already asked you this last weekend, do you remember seeing Georgina Ryder a week ago yesterday on Friday evening, after six o’clock?”
Constance responded immediately with a shake of her head.
“You’re certain about that?” Mitchell held firm against the glare the question provoked.
“Of course I’m certain,” Constance sai
d. “I have my dinner at six o’clock, every day, and after that I’m in front of the television until bedtime.”
Mitchell accepted that, there was no reason for Constance to lie. “Okay, let’s move on to your neighbour. Did you see Lucy Goulding pay a visit to Mr Wild yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, it must have been around two o’clock when she walked past, wearing an outfit that was positively indecent.” Constance sniffed disapprovingly at the memory of what Lucy Goulding had been wearing. “I thought at first she must be going up to the Wrights’, but then she stopped next door. She was on the doorstep for a short while, talking to Mr Wild; I couldn’t hear what was being said, but he let her in. I was surprised by that, I’ve spoken to Mr Wild a number of times since he moved here, and I wouldn’t have thought him the sort of person to let a scantily clad young girl into his home – he seemed more sensible than that.”
“I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Mr Wild is an author.” Mitchell saw Constance nod. “Well, apparently, Lucy is a fan of his books, and a budding author herself; she went there to get copies of his books autographed, and to get some advice on writing, that’s why he let her in. Mr Wild claims that Lucy left after about an hour, between three and three-thirty, did you see her go?”
Constance nodded. “Yes, I was still pottering around in the garden when she came back out. I have to admit; I did wonder what Lucy was doing there for so long.”
Mitchell was still wondering; he did not believe that Lucy Goulding had visited Zack Wild, dressed the way she was, and all they had done was talk about writing. “Did you see where Lucy went after she left Mr Wild’s?” he asked.
“Of course I did,” Constance said sharply. “She headed back down the road to the village. If she had gone to the Wrights’, you’d have heard about it when you were up there earlier, and the only other place she could have gone is the old Matthews’ place, and no-one goes there except canoodling kids. Why don’t you ask Mr Wild where she went, he followed her down the road.”
That surprised Mitchell. “He never said anything about that to me. When you say he followed her down the road, do you mean on foot or in his car?”
“In his car,” Constance said. “He drove down the road no more than a minute after Lucy walked past me. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I just thought he was going out somewhere, but now; you said yesterday afternoon is the last time Lucy was seen?”
“As far as we’re aware,” Mitchell said. “From what we’ve been able to find out, she disappeared between leaving Mr Wild’s and reaching the village. Please don’t be offended, Constance, but are you certain it was Mr Wild you saw heading down the road after Lucy? I’m not trying to suggest you’re wrong, I just need to be certain before I do anything.”
“I’m certain. I see that car of his outside of next door every day, and I can’t imagine anyone else would have been driving down the road then.”
“And you didn’t see anyone else around, either before or just after Lucy headed down the road?”
Constance shook her head. “No-one. Until Lucy came along, I hadn’t seen anyone since Emily and Tara went off to school yesterday morning, and after Lucy left, the only person I saw was Mr Wild. You know how quiet the road is here.”
“I do.” Mitchell was aware that it was not unusual for a day or more to pass with no-one going either up or down the road outside of those who lived on it. “Anyway, thank you, Constance, you’ve been very helpful, now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better go speak to Mr Wild again.”
“You’re welcome, Lewis, I’m glad I could help.”
*****
“Why didn’t you say you followed Lucy Goulding down the road after she left?” Mitchell asked the moment Zack opened the door to let him back in.
Zack looked surprised by the question, and didn’t answer until he had closed the door behind the sergeant. “Because I didn’t.”
“Mrs Hawkins says differently; she says she saw you drive down the road just a minute after Lucy left your house. She’s very definite about it. Now, why don’t you tell me why you were following Lucy, and where she is,” Mitchell said as he trailed his suspect into the living room.
“I don’t have a clue,” Zack said. “Where Lucy is that is, because I didn’t leave the house.”
“Are you saying that Mrs Hawkins is lying? Because she is known to be a very honest and trustworthy person.”
“I’m sure she is, but on this occasion, she’s mistaken.” Zack scratched absently at his arm as he spoke. “After Lucy left I spent the afternoon out back, wrestling with the jungle I’ve got growing out there – I didn’t come in ‘til my stomach said it was time to make dinner. I didn’t leave the house until I went for my run this morning.”
“I take it you have no-one who can confirm that,” Mitchell said, his eyes on Zack’s arm; when he stopped worrying at it with his fingernails, Mitchell saw the author had a series of scratches, no more than a day old, midway up the back of his arm. “Where did you…” Before he could finish, his phone rang in his pocket. “Excuse me.” He left the room.
Mitchell waited until he got to the kitchen, where he was less likely to be overheard, to answer the phone.“Hello, sir, how’s everything going with the search?”
“I guess that depends on your point of view,” Stevens said. “We’ve found Lucy, but her parents aren’t going to be happy about it. I’m not happy about it.”
Mitchell felt his heart sink into his stomach. “She’s dead.” It was a statement, not a question. “Is it – was she killed the same way as Georgina?” he asked, wanting to hear that she hadn’t been killed, that she had died as a result of an accident.
“I didn’t see Georgina, so I can’t say for certain,” Stevens said. “But based on how you described her body, I think so, yes. I’d say she was killed by the same person, but what he did to her was worse, much worse, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible when you described what was done to Georgina.”
Mitchell wanted to ask what was different about Lucy’s murder, but wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. Instead he asked, “Where did you find her?”
“In the woods,” Stevens told him. “Her body is not far from where Georgina was found.”
“Have you found anything that might tell us who killed her? Or if what happened to her and to Georgina are definitely linked?”
“No,” Stevens said regretfully. “We’ve found some partial footprints near where Georgina was found, but the rain we’ve had in the past week has washed most of them away so we can’t follow them anywhere. The forensics people are still working at Georgina’s scene; maybe when they move on to this scene they’ll find something useful.
“Paul said you’re with Mr Wild, have you been able to find out anything from him?” he asked, changing the subject.
“He claims he didn’t see Georgina at all the night she disappeared, and that he never spoke to her, though he did know the name, and he was aware she was missing.”
“What about Lucy, has he been able to tell you anything on that front?”
“Things are a little confusing on that score,” Mitchell said. “Mr Wild has admitted that Lucy paid him a visit yesterday, but he claims she left after about an hour and he didn’t see her again after that.”
“And you don’t believe him?”
“Well, I’ve been able to confirm that Lucy did leave the house after about an hour, but, according to Constance Hawkins, Mr Wild followed her down the road in his car a minute or so after she left. He denies it, of course, claims he didn’t leave the house until this morning, that he spent his time gardening and working on some book he’s writing.”
“Are you thinking he could be responsible for these…deaths.” Stevens could not bring himself to say murder; it felt to him as though saying it would make it true.
“At the moment, I think he’s our most likely suspect,” Mitchell said. “He claims not to have seen Georgina the night she disappeared, yet she would have walked
right past his house on the way to the Wright Farm, and he found her body in an out of the way place that just about no-one goes to. Then there’s his claim that he didn’t leave the house after Lucy’s visit, when he was seen doing so, and the scratches.”
“Scratches?”
“Yes, he has a series of scratches on his arm.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to bring him in, so I can question him again, and I want to search his house and cars for anything that might link him to all of this.”
“Sounds reasonable; I’ll send you a couple of the guys from the search party to help you out, I’ll send them as soon as I’m off the phone, it shouldn’t take them long to reach you.”
“Is everything alright?” Melissa asked when Mitchell walked back into the living room.
Mitchell shook his head. “No, it’s not. Mr Wild, I’m placing you under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Lucy Goulding. We’ll be taking you to the station for questioning, and searching your house and vehicles for evidence; with that in mind, where’s your other car? Your Land Rover is outside, but not your Aston Martin, where is it, we’re going to need to search it as well.”
The announcement was not a surprise, given how obvious Sergeant Mitchell had been with his suspicions, but Zack had expected it to be a little longer before he was arrested. He assumed the move had been prompted by the discovery of Lucy’s body – he didn’t doubt that that was what Mitchell had been told on the phone.
“I think that’s a question I shouldn’t answer until I’ve spoken to my solicitor,” he said. “Speaking of whom.” He got to his feet so he could get his mobile phone from the desk and make the necessary call.
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