by Kate Ellis
She looked at Joe. ‘Did she tell you who …?’
Joe nodded.
The mother looked a little hurt. ‘That’s more than she’s told me.’
George leaned forward. ‘Sometimes it’s difficult to share these things with someone we love. She’s been very helpful. And don’t worry, Joe will make sure the man who did this is put away for a very long time.’
‘Thank God for that. If she hadn’t started going round with that …’
Amy winced. ‘Oh, Mum. Shut up. You can’t blame her for what happened.’
‘Blame who?’ Joe asked.
It was the mother who spoke. ‘One of the girls she worked with at that House of Terrors place persuaded her to go to that place. I blame her for getting Amy involved in all this, I really do.’ She pressed her lips together in disapproval. ‘But I suppose justice has been done.’
‘What do you mean?’ Joe asked.
‘She’s dead, isn’t she? She was murdered.’
George Merryweather put a sympathetic hand on the woman’s arm as she started to cry.
Lunchtimes were sacred to Carmel Hennessy. A break in the middle of the day when she could pick up a sandwich from the delicatessen and eat it on a bench by the river before wandering around the shops, lost in her own thoughts and daydreams. On one occasion she had met Tavy McNair. They’d gone for a pizza in a cheap café on Hillgate and each day she found herself hoping that he’d ring her to arrange another lunchtime meeting. But the Black Hen incident had left her with a tiny shadow of uncertainty in the back of his mind and, although she hardly liked to admit it to herself, caution kept her from arranging anything which involved being alone with him in the evenings.
Today she had hoped to buy a top she had seen in the sales. She had spotted it yesterday and thought about the economics all last night. It was a particularly nice top in a bold bright print. But her plans of extravagance were thwarted by a summons to Peta Thewlis’s office. As she walked down the corridor, she wondered what she had done wrong, racking her brains, going over every little detail of her dealings with the public and the staff. Then she began to wonder if it might be something to do with the flat – some transgression regarding the terms of the lease perhaps – and that hardly made her feel any better.
When she reached the office door she knocked boldly, wondering how soon she could get the interview over with and resume her precious leisure time.
Peta’s barked ‘Come in’ did nothing to inspire confidence. Carmel opened the door and shuffled in like a child summoned to the headmaster. ‘You wanted to see me?’
To her relief Peta smiled. But hers was never a warm smile, more like a token grimace. ‘I just wanted to tell you that Mr Peace won’t be moving back into the bottom flat for a couple of weeks.’
Carmel exhaled, a breath of relief. If that was all, maybe she could go. She took a step towards the door.
‘He came out of hospital this morning and he’s going to stay with his niece – Elizabeth, I think her name is. You’ve met her?’
‘Oh yes. She’s very nice. I do hope Conrad’s all right.’
Peta’s lips twitched upwards. ‘I’m sure he will be.’ She hesitated. ‘Actually, I thought I’d take advantage of his absence and get some work done on his flat. Heaven knows, it needs doing desperately but I thought it would be a lot of disruption for him. I’ve arranged to have a new kitchen put in. The one that’s in there at the moment must have been in since the 1960s and … I … er, hope the workmen won’t disturb you too much.’
‘I’m sure they won’t bother me. I’ll be at work anyway.’
‘Yes, of course. I know the boss of the firm I’m using so I’m sure they’ll be reliable. I just thought I should let you know in case you’re worried by all the noise and …’
‘Thanks.’ Carmel shifted from foot to foot, anxious to be away.
But Peta spoke again. ‘You haven’t heard any more about … about Janna Pyke’s murder, have you?’
Carmel noticed the anxiety in Peta’s eyes. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘I just thought … Oh, it doesn’t matter. Thank you, Carmel.’
Carmel made polite noises and hurried off, wondering why her boss had looked so worried when she’d mentioned Janna Pyke.
But when her mobile phone rang and she discovered that it was Tavy asking her to meet him that evening, she forgot all about it. She had other things to worry about.
Joe received Emily’s message when he switched his phone on as he left Amy’s house. He called her back immediately and they arranged to meet in the Cross Keys. When he arrived at the pub Emily was there waiting for him, sitting near the entrance on the edge of her seat as though she was preparing to make a quick getaway. She smiled at him nervously as he put their drinks on the table. It was one thirty already – a late lunch – but somehow she wasn’t hungry.
Joe came straight to the point. ‘You wanted to tell me something?’
Emily took a long drink from her glass of dry white wine. ‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘I called the local station and they confirmed there was a fight in the Drayman’s Arms the other night. Jeff had come home late with blood on his shirt, you see, and he said that was the reason, but I … well, I wasn’t sure. So I had to check. Apparently it was two blokes with an old grudge going at each other hammer and tongs. One had a broken bottle and there was a lot of blood.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Jeff gave a statement. That’s why he was late home. And the night Uckley’s things were dumped, he went out for a drink with an old friend. I found the mobile number in Jeff’s address book and called him – I made some excuse that Jeff had lost something and did he remember if he had it with him. His alibi stood up. He was where he said he was all right.’
Joe saw a tear run down her cheek but she wiped it away swiftly with her fist.
‘You didn’t seriously think he was …?’
‘No, of course not,’ Emily replied quickly. ‘The idea was absolutely ridiculous. And he’s never driven a white van in his life,’ she added with a weak smile.
‘I’d still like someone to have a word with him … see what he’s got to say about Jane Pyke.’
Emily sat there for a few moments, quite still. Then she picked up her handbag and delved inside, pulling out a plastic bag containing a small book. She held it out, looking at him through long lashes, her eyes still glassy with unshed tears. ‘I found this,’ she said quietly, placing it on the table in front of her.
‘What is it?’
‘Jane Pyke’s address book. I won’t make any excuses. It was on the table with the other things from her bag. I needed to look at it in private to see whether … Jeff’s name’s in it.’
Joe’s expression gave nothing away. Emily had gambled on his understanding, his sympathy. But what if she’d miscalculated? What if trusting Joe Plantagenet was the biggest mistake of her career?
After a while Joe broke the awkward silence. ‘Well, if she was stalking him, that’s hardly surprising.’
Emily looked into his eyes and she thought she saw some sympathy there. It might have been wishful thinking but suddenly she felt reckless. If she didn’t confide in someone, she’d go mad. ‘It’s worse than that, Jane Pyke had our new address … and our phone number.’
Joe thought he saw a brief flash of pain in her eyes. The pain of he betrayed wife. ‘You’ve asked him about it?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘There might be an innocent explanation.’
‘Like what?’
The question had Joe stumped. He shrugged his shoulders.
She picked up a beer mat with restless fingers and began to shred it, hardly aware of what she was doing. Then, after a long silence she spoke again. ‘Will you speak to Jeff?’
Joe considered her proposition. ‘Yes. We need to talk to him anyway.’ He smiled. ‘And it’s better if I do the job than some plodding DC who’ll enjoy spreading it all round the canteen that he’s just grilled t
he DCI’s husband.’
Emily sighed. ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell the Super about all this. He’ll probably take me off the case.’
There was another long silence and Emily wondered whether Joe was secretly enjoying the situation.
‘Look, Emily, you’ve shown me the address book. And if Jeff’s alibis for the relevant times are checked and I interview him, then he’s hardly being left out of our enquiries, is he?’
‘No. I …’
He took a deep breath. ‘I’ll leave it up to you, then.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Whether you want the Super involved at this stage. Myself, I think that would cause more problems than it would solve. Of course everything would change if we find that Jeff does have something to hide but …’
She looked up warily. ‘There are some who’d use this to finish me.’
‘Yes, there are. But I’m not one of them.’
‘I don’t know what to say. I …’
Joe leaned forward. ‘Before you thank me, we’d better get something straight. If I think that this business with Jeff is affecting the enquiry in any way or if I think for one moment that he’s been lying to you, I’ll go to the Super myself. You’ve had a tough decision to make and you’ve done the right thing. OK?’
‘Thanks, Joe.’
‘The subject’s closed,’ he said. ‘And unless you do something bloody stupid, we won’t mention it again.’
He picked up the address book and put it in his pocket. Then he touched her arm gently and she gave him a wary smile. At that moment she looked much younger than her years, as though she had lost her confidence in her own judgement … lost the innocence of certainty.
‘I’ll need to speak to Jeff,’ he said.
Emily nodded. ‘He’ll be in this afternoon.’ She straightened her back, suddenly becoming her old, confident self again before his eyes. ‘You haven’t told me about your visit to Amy’s.’
As Joe brought her up to date, Emily frowned. ‘The bastard,’ she said. ‘We’ll throw the bloody book at that Jevons when we get him. She will give evidence, won’t she?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘The only consolation is that people who rape young girls have a hell of a time in prison. So Pyke was involved in all this too?’
‘It seems she lured the girl there and …’
‘I told you she was bad news, didn’t I? Let’s get round to that House of Terrors as soon as we’ve eaten.’
‘Right you are, boss,’ Joe said with a smile as their eyes met.
Emily took a deep breath. ‘And I think we should dig a bit deeper into the Black Hen. I think these murders have a whiff of Satanic ritual about them.’
Joe nodded. ‘Let’s have something to eat, shall we?’ he said after a few moments, picking up a menu. ‘I’m starving.’
They settled for sandwiches: something quick.
As soon as they’d finished eating, Emily spoke again. ‘Are you sure that Amy will make a formal complaint against this Jevons? Unless she does he might get away with it.’
Joe knew she was right. Many a rapist got away with it because his victim was too embarrassed or terrified or traumatised to go through the rigorous procedures involved in putting a case together that would satisfy the Crown Prosecution Service.
‘But that doesn’t stop us putting the fear of God into him.’
He saw the determined look on Emily’s face. ‘Shall we pay “the Master” a call then?’ He said the words with heavy irony as she stood up and swung her bag over her shoulder.
‘Why not?’ They were both going to enjoy seeing Jevons squirm. Even the uncomfortable knowledge that Jane Pyke had known Jeff’s Eborby address couldn’t rob Emily of this pleasure.
They arrived at the House of Terrors just as it was at its afternoon busiest. It may have been bad timing for Jevons but it made no difference to Joe and Emily. In fact it rather pleased them to think of their suspect being hauled off for questioning so publicly.
Joe leaned on the ticket desk and asked if Jevons was in but he was told that he wasn’t. He hadn’t come in that morning. In fact the girl behind the desk hadn’t seen him for a couple of days. She knew nothing.
On further investigation, a man called James admitted going to his flat the day before and finding it empty. No, he hadn’t thought to report him missing. He’d probably decided to go off somewhere for a few days. James was his assistant and he didn’t mind being in charge of the House of Terrors. In fact he quite enjoyed it.
They all told the same story, almost as if they’d agreed it amongst themselves. Nobody knew anything about Amy being raped, although they remembered her working on Saturdays in the café and they remembered seeing her in the company of Janna Pyke.
‘That was what’s commonly known as a wall of silence,’ Emily observed as they walked back to the car. ‘Shall we try his flat?’
‘We won’t find him there. He’s done a runner. Got out before Amy started talking and things got too hot for him.’
Emily said nothing. The scenario Joe described was as likely as any.
And when there was no answer at his flat and they peeped through the letter box only to see a pile of uncollected post on the floor, they knew he had gone. Left Eborby until the fuss died down.
‘How about putting it out that he’s wanted for questioning in connection with Janna Pyke’s murder?’ Emily suggested.
Joe looked at her for a few seconds. ‘I suppose that’s not a bad idea,’ he said, noting the look of relief on her face. ‘I’ll go and have a word with Jeff if that’s OK.’
Emily nodded. ‘Thanks,’ she said almost in a whisper.
Jamilla Dal couldn’t get Amy’s revelations out of her mind and she lurched between pity for the girl and righteous anger against her attacker. These emotions fought in her head as she settled down to the tedious task of going through all the available security footage from the Boargate area. It was mind numbing but she knew it had to be done – she only wished she hadn’t been the only officer available to deal with the task.
She sat there in front of the TV screen, hypnotised by the moving images, uncertain whether she’d recognise something significant if it appeared there in front of her.
The trouble was that they didn’t know the exact time that Janna Pyke had been abducted or where precisely she had been abducted from. All Jamilla had was guesswork, a report of a light-coloured van being seen around the time Janna Pyke’s body was dumped in Evanshaw churchyard and the white van that had appeared to be following Carla Yates in the security video. And, from watching the videos, it seemed that every other vehicle driving through the streets of Eborby was a white van. The words needle and haystack sprang to mind.
The pictures of Carla Yates’s last journey had been enhanced but that hadn’t been much help. The figure driving the van was too much in shadow to be seen clearly and it seemed the logo on the side of the van had been covered deliberately by some sort of paper or thin plastic, suggesting that someone had taken precautions.
However, the covering had come away from the first letter of whatever was written on the side of the van. The letter K was clearly visible, unlike the van’s registration number, which was too covered with dirt to make out. Jamilla concluded that this could have been deliberate. It was important to the killer that the van shouldn’t be identifiable. Precautions again. And intelligence. The police always preferred it when their adversaries didn’t think too hard.
Jamilla regarded the pile of videotapes she had already watched with distaste and picked a new one out of the box. After inserting it into the mouth of the machine she pressed the switch, sat back and took a sip of coffee – at least it would help to keep her awake.
She stared at the moving images on the screen. Hussgate ran at right angles to Boargate and was just outside the pedestrianised zone. The digital time in the corner of the picture said seventeen thirty. Rush hour, when the shops were shutting their doors. The date was five days before Janna’s body had been
found in Evanshaw churchyard. And there was Janna herself, hurrying down Hussgate towards Boargate, head down, intent on her destination, her black skirt billowing behind her and her shoulder bag – the one that had been found with her clothes – slung across her body and clutched to her chest.
Jamilla smiled. Janna was there at last, scurrying along as though she didn’t want anyone to see her. She noticed the dead girl was carrying a plastic bag with the name of a well-known convenience store that had a branch on Hussgate. She had been out for provisions; ventured out of the flat above the art shop when supplies ran low. When the bread and milk run out you can’t hide away for ever.
Then Jamilla spotted it. Janna was passing a row of parked vehicles, one of which was a white van. A figure was getting out of the van. A hunched figure with longish fair hair and some sort of hooded jacket that seemed too big for him … or her. She could only see the figure’s disappearing back as it hurried after Janna, following a few yards behind her, barely noticeable amongst the other pedestrians. Then they both vanished from view.
Jamilla sat back and took another sip of coffee before reporting her findings to DCI Thwaite.
*
Jane Pyke had been a manipulative, vindictive, crafty little bitch. But Jeff Timmons was sorry that she was dead, of course. Nobody deserved a fate like that.
Joe Plantagenet had sat in Emily’s living room with its stripped wooden floor and original Victorian fireplace, sipping tea and trying to stay patient at the children’s frequent interruptions to his strange, almost surreal interview with the DCI’s husband.
Jeff Timmons seemed to be an amiable man, glad of Joe’s company to relieve the monotony of child-minding and preparing lessons for the following term. But Joe guessed, from the way Jeff talked and from his restless fidgeting, that the subject of Jane Pyke still had the power to disturb him. Jane’s lies had almost cost him his job, his marriage and his health and Joe suspected that the man’s suffering had given Jane some sort of perverse pleasure. Yes, he told Joe, he still felt bitter but he had moved on. New city. New job. And his relationship with Emily was stronger than ever … until Jane Pyke had got herself murdered and the events of the past had returned like a dark, evil-smelling flood.
