by David Hodges
‘You don’t seem particularly upset by the tragedy.’
‘That’s not fair.’
Callow’s face hardened. ‘No, it isn’t, is it?’ she grated. ‘But then neither is murder and I am curious as to why someone would gag and tie up a young woman, subject her to a beating, then snap her spine like twig. As it seems to have happened in your flat, maybe you could help me there?’
Kate sensed danger and swallowed quickly. ‘I told you, Hayden thought Linda was me. Her killer probably thought the same thing.’
‘And why would this person – whoever he is – want to kill you?’
‘For the same reason he ran me off the road—’
‘Oh come on,’ Callow cut in. ‘You’re not still claiming that your accident was the work of some shadowy bogey man trying to prevent you rubbishing the case against Duval?’
Kate shrugged. ‘Mock as much as you like, but I know it was and I still don’t believe Duval is our killer either.’
Callow’s thin lips twisted into a sneer. ‘Don’t you?’ she retorted. ‘And I suppose this bogey man was the same one who followed you all the way to Jury’s yard and stiffed Ray Jury?’
In an instant Kate was thrown off balance and she stared at Callow as if mesmerized. ‘Ray Jury?’ she gasped. ‘Ray Jury’s dead?’
The DCI nodded, pleased that she had finally managed to rattle her. ‘As mutton, my dear. Looks like his neck was broken too.’
‘But – but he was alive when we left his place.’
Callow lurched forward across the desk. ‘Is that right? Well, I think it mighty coincidental that you and your boyfriend should have dropped in at the yard minutes before he called for police assistance.’
Now Kate could feel the fear building up inside her like an ice-cold cramp. ‘Surely you don’t think Hayden and I—?’
Callow sat back in her chair and studied her over steepled fingers. ‘Why not? Maybe you panicked when Jury saw what you’d found underneath your car and you decided to shut him up.’
For a second Kate’s guard slipped and she nearly fell into Callow’s trap by telling her about the tracking device. Just in time she bit her tongue. ‘I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t you? We have a witness who saw you remove something from under the car and take it with you when you left. What was that all about?’
Despite her traumatized state, Kate’s defence mechanism, sharpened by Callow’s bullying tactics, came to her aid, alerting her to the flaw in the DCI’s Dr Watson-style analysis. Skilfully turning the tables without answering her question, she said, ‘We were seen to leave then, were we? So at that stage Ray Jury must obviously have still been alive, which puts a nice big spike in your theory, doesn’t it?’
‘You could have doubled back.’
Now Kate was incredulous. ‘Do me a favour, Chief Inspector. You’ve been watching too many TV cop films.’
Callow’s face twisted into a spiteful mask, but before she could respond, the interview was interrupted by the discordant blast of the mobile she had placed on the desk in front of her.
Without taking her eyes off Kate, she spat an acknowledgment into the phone and listened intently, her face softening as she did so, until a triumphant smile replaced the venom in her expression and she ended the call in a positively upbeat mood.
‘That was DI Roscoe at your little flat,’ she now purred. ‘Apparently SOCO have so far found some interesting fibres and lots of nice marks, so it will be necessary for you and your boyfriend to come in here tomorrow to provide the usual elimination prints.’
‘As serving police officers, our fingerprints will already be on file,’ Kate cut in.
Callow’s smile became even more pronounced. ‘Maybe so,’ she agreed, ‘but since your flat has now become a crime scene, I require you to provide elim prints anyway – if that’s not too much trouble, for you?’
Kate nodded and studied her warily, knowing from Callow’s change in attitude that something else was coming that she wouldn’t like.
The DCI paused for a moment to slip another mint into her mouth, obviously enjoying the tension she had created. ‘The prints and fibres are all good stuff, of course,’ she went on, ‘but not of immediate value to the investigation as conclusive results will take time. But’ – and she leaned forward again across the desk – ‘what is of immediate value is the fact that we have a witness.’
‘A witness?’ Kate could not help a sharp intake of breath.
The gleam in the DCI’s eyes became more intense. ‘An elderly resident who not only saw a man run away from the scene at about the right time, but was able to give us a detailed description of him – and guess what? That description fits Terry Duval to a tee.’ She crunched her mint once like a dry bone. ‘So much for your phantom bogeyman, eh?’
The fire was nearly out when Lewis ushered Kate into the living room of his cottage and she sank on to the settee while he stoked up the dying flames again.
They had hardly spoken on the way back from Highbridge, each busy with their own thoughts, and Lewis’s opening remark of ‘So how was it?’ as he had helped her into his car had been greeted with a hostile ‘Just don’t go there’. He knew all about Duval being tied to the crime scene by a witness – news travels fast in the police service and the skeleton crew in the general office had been full of it – but he had known better than to broach the subject to Kate. She was obsessed with the idea that Duval was innocent and in her present fragile condition and with Lewis himself on the verge of exhaustion, this was not the time for a heated debate.
There were other considerations too. The killer had obviously been after Kate when he had confronted Linda and he would know he had made a bad mistake. That meant he was bound to be looking for Kate again and a thatched cottage stuck out on the Levels at Burtle was not the ideal refuge for a vulnerable target. Lewis frowned as he turned to look at his charge. She had slumped sideways on the settee, with her eyes closed, and appeared to be out for the count. ‘Gordon Bennett!’ he muttered. ‘An assassin on one side and the Wicked Witch of the North on the other. Which leaves us both right up the creek without a paddle.’
Grabbing a duvet from his bed, he trailed it down the stairs into the room and draped it over Kate’s prostrate form, carefully sliding a cushion under her head. Then, checking that the doors and windows were locked, he dropped into a chair by the fire and awaited developments, a heavy poker in one hand.
The pub was a well-known haunt of local police officers finishing the late shift and Twister propped himself on a rickety stool at the bar with a pint in front of him. The place was packed, despite the fact that it was well after the usual drinking hours. A couple of the force’s finest, civilian coats over their uniforms, were already well oiled, their voices loud and slurred. He wondered if they intended driving home afterwards.
‘Got a light, mate?’ he asked a spotty-faced youngster next to him, noting that his pint glass was nearly empty.
The policeman frowned. ‘Can’t smoke in pubs no more,’ he declared in a thick voice.
Twister swore. ‘Just my luck,’ he growled. ‘Better have a chaser instead then.’ He raised his hand to beckon the bartender and glanced quickly at his new acquaintance. ‘Want to join me?’
The other swayed slightly, turning away from his colleagues. ‘Yeah, don’t mind if I do – beer, thanks.’
Twister watched with grim satisfaction as the policeman downed half of his pint in a gulp. ‘You can certainly hold the old sherbet,’ he commented.
The youngster puffed out his chest. ‘Don’t affect me no more,’ he boasted. ‘Been on it too long.’
Twister nodded. ‘Local Bill, are you?’
The kid’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you ask?’
Twister shrugged, staring into his glass. ‘No reason really. Only, one of my mates is in your lot.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, Highbridge CID.’
The other gave a good-natured grin. ‘What
the “defective” squad? Load of poofs, they are.’
Twister forced a laugh. ‘Yeah, I’ll drink to that. He must be to drive the motor he’s got – bloody Inspector Morse Jag, I ask you.’
‘What, a red one?’
Twister glanced at him. ‘Yeah, good-looking car though. You know him?’
The policeman chuckled. ‘What, Hayden Lewis? Now he really is a poof. Ex-pubic schoolboy.’ And he laughed again at his unsavoury pun, turning back to his colleagues. ‘Hey, guys, this chap knows ol’ Hayden Lewis.’
Twister’s mouth tightened. He didn’t want the whole crowd in on the conversation. But he need not have worried; they were too interested in a joke one of them was telling to be diverted and they ignored their workmate’s shout.
‘Got a nice pad though, hasn’t he?’
Another snort. ‘If you like the Levels – I mean, who’d want to live in a place with a grass roof?’ He chuckled again. ‘Especially one with a name like The Retreat – sounds like an old folks’ home.’
‘Maybe he likes village life.’
The policeman finished his pint and grabbed hold of the counter for support. ‘Life? Ain’t no life at Burtle – just bloody marsh.’
Time to go. Twister finished his whisky and stretched. ‘Call it a night, I think,’ he said.
His drinking partner grinned again. ‘What, you on to a promise?’
Twister clapped him on the shoulder. ‘More likely a threat at my age, old son. Have a nice life.’
Then he was gone, weaving between the drinkers to the door. Outside he lit a cigarette before heading off down the street to the empty car-park where he had parked his Land Rover in the shadows – and it was his turn to grin as he climbed behind the wheel. So, the man with the Jag was called Hayden Lewis, was he, and he lived in a thatched cottage in Burtle called The Retreat? Well, he shouldn’t be too difficult to find, should he? And finding him would almost certainly mean finding little Miss Katie.
He glanced at his watch. He was tempted to head for Burtle right there and then, but checked himself in time. No sense in rushing things, however important recovery of the tracker was. What was done was done and if Kate and her boyfriend still had the device, they wouldn’t be doing much with it in the middle of the night, would they? And anyway, if they were both home, he could hardly just go up to the cottage in the early hours of the morning and knock them up; that would be plain dumb. No, he would have to handle this last tidying up operation with a bit more aplomb than he had managed so far – check the place out for the tracker first and deal with the two coppers afterwards. Daylight was the best time. Lewis was likely to be at work then and there was an even chance that little Miss Katie would be there on her own. His mouth almost watered at the thought. Ideal. And if she wasn’t actually staying there as he’d assumed, then he could sit and wait for either of the pair to show up, couldn’t he? After all, what had he to lose more than he could have lost already?
He started the engine and eased out into the road, armed with a new sense of purpose. At last he felt good again and after a nice kip, he knew he would feel a whole lot better – well enough, in fact, to embrace a brand new fulfilling day.
chapter 17
THE POLICE STATION at Highbridge was virtually deserted when Kate and Lewis put in an appearance at just after eleven in the morning and, slipping in the back door to avoid the press camped out the front, they learned from Dick Stacey that the inquiry team was engaged in house-to-house inquiries in the vicinity of Kate’s flat and not expected back until the afternoon, which suited them just fine.
Kate had passed the rest of the night on Lewis’s settee without waking once and the few hours’ sleep she had managed, followed by the shower and the coffee and buttered-toast breakfast Hayden had then set before her, had certainly helped to restore some of her former resilience. But she remained in a lot of pain from her accident, despite the strong pain-killers she had been taking, and the dark smudges under her eyes, coupled with the haunted expression on her pale, drawn face, reflected the torment that was going on inside her head over the brutal death of her sister and the fact that she could still not find it within herself to feel any real sense of loss.
It was true that Linda’s death had come as a terrible shock to her, but no more than the death of any murder victim in such circumstances, and while her feelings of pity and regret for a life so tragically wasted were genuine, there was none of the agonizing gut-wrenching sorrow that one twin is traditionally expected to suffer following the demise of the other. Looking back, she remembered that she and her sister had never been very close anyway and when Linda had gone off the rails and turned to drugs, effectively destroying the lives of her mother and father as well as her own, the coldness between them had turned to mutual hostility – a sentiment that had been made a lot worse by Kate’s own decision to join the police. Maybe the day would come when Linda’s death would finally hit her, enabling her to shed tears for her sister in the same way as she had shed them for Andy Seldon and Alf Cross, but right now her mind was partially anaesthetized by the shock and the pain of the last few days and she had no more tears left; only a burning hatred for the person responsible for so much carnage and a determination to bring him down, whatever the cost.
The SOCO man who took Kate’s elimination fingerprints had very little to say – no doubt because he had already been briefed about her alleged cowardice by the rest of the team and was too embarrassed to try and make polite conversation. Lewis fared only fractionally better and it was clear that his association with Kate had now tainted him in the eyes of his colleagues, which only added to her feelings of guilt, and she squeezed his arm as they left the SOCO office. ‘Sorry, Hayden,’ she said. ‘I’ve spoiled things for you too.’
He forced a grin. ‘Cup of coffee, old girl!’ he said firmly, sensing her mood. ‘And maybe even a currant bun, eh?’
Kate smiled faintly. ‘You should be at work now. You’ll be getting into trouble.’
Another grin. ‘You worry too much, Kate,’ he said. ‘The guv’nor and the Wicked Witch are still down at the crime scene and, according to good old Dick Stacey in there, the DI is now back to covering things at Jury’s Yard. What better time for a currant bun, eh?’
The café Kate had visited before was almost empty and Lewis chose a corner table, apparently unaware of the sullen glance the waitress cast in Kate’s direction as she took their order.
‘Point is,’ Hayden began in a conspiratorial whisper after an awkward silence, ‘we need to sort you out, don’t we? You can’t go back to your flat, so it looks like you’ll have to stay with me at Burtle until things settle down.’
Kate shook her head. ‘You’re very kind, Hayden,’ she began, ‘but I can’t—’
‘That’s settled then,’ he beamed, cutting her off and taking the laden tray from the waitress as she approached. ‘And the next thing we have to do is to get you another car. Can’t have you walking, can we?’
‘My insurance company will sort that out,’ she replied. ‘Terms of my policy provide for a temporary replacement.’
‘No need,’ he said, cutting open his bun and buttering it lavishly. ‘I’ve got another motor – a little Mini – at my place and it should do you until the insurance company pays out.’
‘No, Hayden,’ she said firmly. ‘I won’t allow it.’
‘I’ll drop you off there,’ he said, butter oozing through his fingers as he bit into his bun, ‘then hotfoot it back to the nick before the posse returns. Now don’t forget your coffee; it’ll get cold.’
But Kate was no longer listening. Her gaze was directed over his shoulder to the door. Pauline Cross had just entered the café and to Kate’s alarm, was walking straight over to her.
‘Hello, Kate,’ she said, nodding to Lewis as he half struggled to his feet with characteristic courtesy.
Kate swallowed her mouthful of coffee in a solid lump. ‘Hello, Pauline,’ she responded, blurting an automatic, ‘How are you feeling?’
Pauline shrugged. ‘May I join you?’
Kate’s jaw dropped. ‘Join us?’
Pauline nodded, giving a tight-lipped smile. ‘Just been in to collect Alf’s personal effects and saw you through the window.’
Kate squirmed. ‘I’m so terribly sorry,’ she whispered.
Pauline made a face. ‘So am I, Kate,’ she said. ‘But I think I owe you an apology.’
Hayden coughed, sensing the tension between the two women and trying to hide his embarrassment. ‘Look, Kate,’ he put in quickly, ‘you sit and have a chat with Pauline. I – I’m supposed to be at work, so I should really go back to the incident room. Pop by when you’re ready and I’ll take you’ – he hesitated, swallowing the words ‘back to Burtle’, and quickly substituting – ‘home.’
Before Kate could think of a suitable excuse, he had clumsily pushed his chair back into the next table and was edging for the door, smiling and nodding his discomfort as he went.
‘Nice man,’ Pauline commented, taking his vacated chair and raising a finger in the direction of the waitress.
Ordering a cup of coffee, she sat back in her chair, eyeing Kate quizzically. ‘Heard about your accident and the terrible business at your flat,’ she went on. ‘You look dreadful.’
Kate nodded. ‘I don’t feel so good,’ she admitted, then added, ‘Look, Pauline, what they’re saying about me, it just isn’t true.’
‘I realize that.’
‘You do? Then why—?’
Pauline laid a hand on her wrist. ‘Kate, I was distraught, can you understand that? I said things that were – well, totally unfair, and I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t have deserted poor Alf and Andy.’
Kate felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders. ‘So we’re still friends?’
Pauline smiled, turning to take her cup of coffee off the waitress. ‘What else?’
