The Reckoning

by Jane Casey

  ‘Any idea why her arms were tied?’

  ‘None. Looks to have been post-mortem. There’s no bruising and the cord was tight.’

  Godley frowned. ‘Important for the display, do you think?’

  ‘Maybe. The body looks as if it was carefully positioned. Showing the head is interesting. The killer wasn’t trying to hide what he’d done. On the other hand, I can think of more accessible places to leave a body if you want it to be found and admired.’ Hanshaw shrugged. ‘Maybe he knew you’d be back.’

  ‘Or maybe he knew leaving her here would tell us nothing about where he took her.’

  ‘Plenty of trace evidence on the blanket and her skin,’ the pathologist said. ‘Lots to keep the forensics boys busy. You’ll get something from her.’

  ‘Hope so.’ Godley turned. ‘Right. I’ll get my SOCOs to do this room and a sweep of the whole warehouse so we can be sure we haven’t missed anything.’ The words this time hung in the air, unspoken. ‘Kev Cox will manage the crime scene. I’ll get him to liaise with your guys so they can compare notes.’

  DCI Redmond nodded. ‘I was going to go up to Hoddesden to talk to Gayle Skinner.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea.’

  She looked wary and I understood immediately that she was afraid to encroach on Godley’s territory. This was very definitely his case now. ‘Did you want to do it?’

  ‘Break the news? Not on your life.’ He smiled thinly. ‘I’ve done that once today. That was enough. Anyway, she knows you.’

  She nodded and made for the door, pausing beside Rob. ‘I’m going now. If you still want to come, you’re welcome to join me.’

  ‘Definitely.’ He waited for her to leave, then looked down at me. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘I’ll see you later, then.’ I said it quietly, so no one else would hear, and he responded in the same low tone.

  ‘Probably not tonight.’

  I wondered why not but there was no way I was going to ask, and he said goodbye without further discussion.

  ‘Where’s Josh?’ Godley was looking around as if Derwent could have concealed himself somewhere in the desolate room.

  ‘He went outside. I’m not sure why.’

  ‘He’s not as unfeeling as he pretends to be. He has known John Skinner for a long time.’

  ‘They’re hardly friends,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Sometimes that makes it worse. He’s not used to feeling anything as benign as pity for him.’

  ‘Cheyenne doesn’t look much like Skinner.’

  ‘She’s the image of her mother.’ Godley winced. ‘I should probably have gone up to Hertfordshire with them.’

  ‘I’m sure DCI Redmond will do a good job.’

  ‘Are you?’ There was an awkward silence before he relented. ‘She’s not the worst. And I do think she’s managed Gayle well enough.’

  ‘Faint praise.’

  ‘Sorry. I can’t pretend to be impressed.’

  I wasn’t going to defend her for the sake of it, but I couldn’t resist asking, ‘What would you have done differently?’

  ‘Honestly? Everything.’ He turned back and looked at the body. ‘But I don’t know if it would have changed the outcome.’

  ‘Probably best not to wonder about that.’

  ‘Probably. But do you think that will stop me?’

  Before I had to answer, a rattle from the hallway announced the arrival of the mortuary men wheeling a trolley with a folded body bag on it. I backed away a step, fetching up against the wall. I must have been looking green.

  ‘You don’t have to stay for this bit. In fact, you don’t have to stay at all.’ Godley took out his phone and scrolled through the address book. ‘I’ve got somewhere more useful for you to be.’

  The person he was calling picked up before I got the chance to find out more.

  ‘Marla, have you left yet? Good. Is there room in the car for another of my officers?’

  I could hardly believe my luck.

  Godley disconnected. ‘They’re waiting for you in the yard.’

  ‘Is there anything in particular you want me to do while I’m there?’ Because I feel as if you’re just getting rid of me …

  ‘Find out what Cheyenne was really like. I don’t think her dad has the first idea – then again, fathers never do. But you were a teenage girl once. You should have some insight into her character.’

  I pulled a face. ‘I haven’t been a teenager for a while, boss.’

  ‘Even so.’

  There was no point in arguing; he had made up his mind. I followed the twisting corridor back to the yard, hurrying as best I could in the half-light of the deserted building. I emerged blinking into daylight and saw a car with its engine running at the main gate, waiting for me. I lifted a finger – give me one second – and hared across to where Godley had parked. Derwent was leaning against the car, on his phone. He covered it with one hand.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Hertfordshire.’ I picked up my bag from the back seat and swung it onto my shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’

  The look he gave me made me wish I hadn’t bothered to ask. I didn’t hang around waiting for a big farewell. It was safe to assume he was embarrassed about his quick exit from the break room. I wondered what had happened, but I didn’t quite dare to ask. It was enough, frankly, to know that Derwent wasn’t so tough after all. It made up for a lot, one way or another.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There were four of us making the pilgrimage to break the bad news to Gayle Skinner: me, Rob, DCI Redmond, and a short, seedy detective sergeant named Ray Small. Two from the old team, two from the new. Arguably, it wouldn’t take four of us to tell her Cheyenne was dead, but Marla didn’t volunteer to leave Ray Small behind. Besides, he was driving. I felt that my presence there was unnecessary and I didn’t like it any more than I liked to think Godley had wanted me somewhere else, for reasons known only to himself, and Hertfordshire was the first place that sprang to mind. It looked almost as if I had asked to go, I was uncomfortably aware, and Rob didn’t seem completely at ease as the car nosed through the big factory gates and into the afternoon traffic.

  Fortunately, perhaps, I didn’t have to make much in the way of conversation. Rob was in the front with DS Small, Marla Redmond having commandeered the back seat so she could sleep. I apologised slightly awkwardly for spoiling her plans, but she shook her head.

  ‘I can sleep sitting up. It’s just more comfortable back here. You can stretch out.’ She demonstrated, propping her feet up and leaning back against the headrest. Her eyelids closed almost instantly and before we had reached the main road she was fast asleep.

  Either because he was wary of waking her or because he was that way inclined, Small was monosyllabic to the point of rudeness. Rob settled into silence almost immediately and I sat behind him, listening to the engine’s soothing hum and staring out of the window at North London as it slid by.

  The journey didn’t take too long once we were free of the clogging traffic in the city centre. Hoddesdon was well within commuter territory and easily accessible by fast road. It was a prosperous little town, and Cheyenne had lived in one of the nicer parts, on a wide leafy road with large detached houses set well back, mostly behind security gates.

  Small broke his silence. ‘We’re nearly there, boss.’

  Marla Redmond straightened up, going from dead to the world to wide-awake in an instant. Leaning over to see herself in the rear-view mirror, she finger-combed her hair into something like order, and then dug in her bag for lipstick. Armour, essentially. She hadn’t needed it to face a team of hard-edged police officers, but for Gayle, it was an essential.

  Small turned into the driveway that led to the Skinners’ house and leaned out to poke the intercom as if he had done it many times before. While we waited for someone to answer the bell and let us in, I leaned over to peer at the building. It was of recent construction in pale yellow brick with a giant, pillared porch and bi
g square windows. They had gone all the way to the edge of the plot at the sides, using every inch of space to loom over the more modest houses on either side. The front garden had been paved over, the better to display the family’s collection of cars. A silver Range Rover was parked on one side of the front door alongside a black Audi TT, and the boot of a Porsche 911 poked out behind it. When the gate swung open, Small drove forward and stopped behind a top-of-the-range Mercedes, blocking it in.

  ‘That’s not one of Gayle’s cars.’ DCI Redmond was also leaning forward so she could see. ‘I don’t recognise it.’

  ‘It’s probably the cleaner’s.’ Small had made an actual joke, I realised with some surprise. He shrugged. ‘Around here, anything’s possible.’

  ‘Right.’ The inspector was back in take-charge mode. ‘Obviously, I’ll do the talking. If either of you two want to ask any questions, feel free, but I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until we’ve given Gayle a little time to get used to the news.’

  ‘We won’t rush her,’ Rob promised. I wasn’t going to make a fuss about him speaking for me, but I hoped he wasn’t going to make a habit of it. I got enough of that from Derwent.

  ‘Gayle’s not the easiest person to deal with.’ Marla Redmond hesitated, then decided against trying to explain what she meant. ‘You’ll see what I mean, I suppose.’

  The front door had opened and a thin middle-aged woman with iron-grey hair was peering out.

  ‘We’ve been spotted.’

  Small looked in the same direction as me. ‘Oh, that’s Lydia. She’s the housekeeper. Don’t ask me why Gayle needs staff. She’s not exactly pushed for time.’

  ‘Status,’ DCI Redmond said briefly. ‘She wants what the neighbours have got. If she can’t fit in, she can at least keep up with them. Mind you, Lydia’s been around for years. I got the impression from talking to her that she pretty much did all the hard work with the girl. Gayle’s not much of a one for discipline or domestic chores.’ She opened her door and got out, giving the housekeeper a brief wave. ‘Back again,’ she said unnecessarily.

  ‘Any news?’ The woman’s voice cracked, as if she hadn’t spoken for a while.

  Instead of replying, DCI Redmond walked quickly across the neat brick pavers towards her. I let Small follow her before Rob and I took up the rear. The sergeant was wearing a tweed sports coat and black slacks, neither of which looked the better for the car journey, and he had a strange, scuttling walk that took him on an indirect route to the front door. I realised he was checking out the Merc as he slid past it.

  Having reached the shelter of the porch, DCI Redmond spoke in a low voice so it wouldn’t carry into the house. ‘Lydia, there is some news, but it’s not good. Where’s Gayle?’

  ‘In the sunroom.’ The housekeeper made the sign of the cross, her lips moving silently as she did so. Her face was sheet-white.

  ‘Does she have anyone with her? A friend?’

  ‘She has someone. A visitor.’ Lydia looked vague. ‘I think he’s Mr Skinner’s friend.’

  Marla Redmond was too well trained to react in any obvious way, but I could feel curiosity vibrating in the air around her as she stepped into the hall, the two of us following behind her and Small. The hall was square and tiled in cream marble. The doors were pale oak like the staircase that wound up to the first floor with a wholly unnecessary flourish. There were no pictures on the cream-painted walls, but a bronze sculpture of a leaping deer had pride of place on the table in the middle. ‘We’ll just go through and see them, then. Thank you, Lydia.’

  The housekeeper didn’t move. ‘What happened to my darling girl? Is she dead?’

  Marla didn’t reply but her face must have revealed the truth, because the woman twisted away, a muffled cry forcing itself out of her body. I recognised the hopeless urge to run and hide from bad news.

  ‘Lydia, I’m sorry.’ The inspector patted her shoulder. ‘I can’t tell you the details now, but we found her body this morning.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I need to talk to Gayle first. I’m so sorry,’ she said again.

  ‘Of course. Of course,’ Lydia turned back. Her expression was that of a sleepwalker waking up on the edge of a long drop. ‘Down the hall and through the sitting room. It’s on your left.’

  ‘We’ll find it.’

  ‘I should really show you.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  Small cut in. ‘Why don’t you go and make a few cups of tea, there’s a love. Hot and lots of sugar. Drink a bit yourself – get yourself settled. Nothing like a cup of tea to help with a shock.’

  ‘Mrs Skinner doesn’t drink tea.’ Her voice was still hoarse, but it was lifeless, her eyes vacant. ‘She doesn’t take anything with caffeine in it.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. She might change her mind, see, when she’s heard. Better to have it ready just in case.’ He steered her towards the back of the hall and ushered her into what I presumed was the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks, Ray.’

  ‘Pleasure.’ He jerked his head to indicate a door on the other side of the hall. ‘In here?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  The sitting room was a symphony in cream – sofas, carpets, curtains, the lot. A huge room, it was as blank as the screen of the huge television that hung on one wall. It reminded me of a hotel more than a private house. There was no trace of the people who lived there, no sign of a personality in the choice of furniture or fabrics. It was the essence of luxury, though, and I couldn’t help checking the soles of my shoes to make sure I didn’t mark the carpet, smiling as I noticed Rob doing the same. Small had no such qualms. He wore heavy lace-ups with rugged soles that left a distinct pattern tufted in the heavy pile as he trekked across to the double-doors at the end of the room. They were glass and he took a wary look through, standing to one side so he couldn’t be seen. He frowned, then nodded.

  ‘This way, boss.’

  Marla Redmond inhaled deeply, checked her face in the gilt-framed mirror over the fireplace and went to join him.

  I didn’t even see Gayle Skinner herself when I first walked into the sunroom. The sunlight was dazzling – almost blinding. As my eyes got used to it, I could see I was standing in an octagonal room that was composed mainly of glass, including the roof. The windows were firmly shut; there wasn’t a breath of air. The temperature had to be in the thirties and I felt my throat dry immediately. Eventually, by dint of squinting, I made out Mrs Skinner sitting on a wicker sofa on one side of the room. She was wearing a white dress that was too fitted to come across as virginal, and a pair of sunglasses that hid most of her face. She didn’t seem to be much older than me, though it was hard to tell under the make-up and glasses. It made sense that she had been young when she got married. Skinner was the sort to want a much younger wife. Easier to control, for one thing.

  DCI Redmond went across to her, her hand outstretched.

  ‘Gayle. Sorry to interrupt you.’

  ‘Oh God.’ It was a drawl. ‘You just keep coming back, don’t you?’

  ‘When there’s any news.’ Marla managed to keep her voice even and her manner friendly in spite of Gayle’s rudeness.

  ‘This is the woman who’s been investigating Cheyenne’s disappearance.’ Gayle waved a languid hand in the direction of the narrow-faced man who was sitting near her. He was leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed. His hair was a shade of black that was too dark, too uniform to be the result of anything but dye. ‘DCI Redmond, this is Kenneth Goldsworthy. Kenny’s a friend of John’s.’

  ‘Why does that surprise me?’ From her tone, Marla Redmond had evidently heard of him; we all had. Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire was Ken Goldsworthy’s own personal fiefdom. He was the main importer of drugs to both counties, the main recipient of the proceeds from the brothels of Luton and Stevenage, the main launderer of dirty money through a range of legitimate businesses, and the main target for the policing efforts of at least two forces. He was a slippery individual who could afford e
xcellent lawyers and had never spent as much as a night behind bars, something he was very proud of indeed.

  And he was, by reputation, no friend of John Skinner’s. Quite the opposite. They had spent the nineties engaged in a turf war that had been bloody, violent and ultimately resolved by Goldsworthy retreating from the areas of London he had infiltrated and selling up his businesses in Surrey, Sussex and Kent. Intelligence suggested they had agreed to keep to their own areas, with Skinner getting the lion’s share. For the last decade they had operated independently of each other, pretending the other one wasn’t there, but that didn’t mean Goldsworthy was happy about seeing Skinner’s empire grow and prosper. What he was doing looking comfortable and at home in Gayle Skinner’s sunroom, white shirt open to the third button and fat Rolex gleaming in the sunshine, I couldn’t begin to guess.

  The four of us were still standing and it slowly became apparent that Gayle was not going to invite us to sit down. She shook out expensively layered hair that was the same colour as her daughter’s, dragging long white-tipped nails through it.

  ‘Was there something you wanted?’

  Marla looked from her to Goldsworthy and back. ‘I wanted to speak to you in private, actually.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can say to me that I wouldn’t want Kenny to hear.’ She gestured grandly as she said it, ice cubes clinking in her glass, and I suddenly twigged that she was absolutely hammered.

  ‘It’s about Cheyenne. It’s not good news, Gayle.’ I would give Marla points for persistence if nothing else.

  Behind the sunglasses, Gayle’s face went still. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that we found her body this morning.’

  A tiny pause.

  ‘Are you saying she’s dead or something?’

  Marla’s voice was gentle. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

  ‘Fuck off.’ She stood up, staggering a little, and pointed at us. ‘Fuck off, the lot of you. You’re wrong.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I know this is hard to take in. I’m sure you’ll have questions for me, but just take your time.’