Stalked By Shadows

by Chris Collett

  ‘Is there anyone who can back that up?’ Glover asked.

  ‘Do you mean is there anyone there in bed with me at that time? Now whatever would the wife think, Mr Glover?’

  ‘Have you got a computer, Mr Kerrigan?’ Millie asked.

  Kerrigan regarded her with suspicion. ‘Aye, the kiddies need it for their school work, but I know nothin’ about the thing.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Millie walked back to the car with Charlie Glover. ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘He’s admitted to being in that area.’

  ‘But not at that time of day. His kind of lifestyle, I doubt very much that he’s up with the lark. And I don’t think he’s that vindictive.’

  ‘But he is proud,’ Millie pointed out. ‘I can’t imagine he’d like what it would do to his reputation if it got around that social services had been in. You saw how tense he was about that.’

  ‘True,’ Glover conceded.

  ‘Do you think it’s worth an ID parade?’

  ‘Trouble with that is that he’s admitted being on the estate. Your cleaner might well recognise him, but only because she’s seen him at a completely different time.’ Glover had a point. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t discount him straight away, but you’re going to need more than circumstantial to bring him in.’

  Still feeling ill, Lucy Jarrett had left work early and arrived home late on Monday afternoon to find another package on the doorstep. She groaned inwardly. Mostly this was just becoming tiresome now. She picked up the long, narrow cardboard box, which was surprisingly lightweight, its label announcing that inside were flowers from Guernsey. Taking it into the kitchen, she actually considered consigning it straight to the bin, but realised that Millie would probably want to see it. Then she remembered Alice, who had started out with her as a health visitor and had moved to Guernsey just a few months ago; they must be genuine after all. With some relief she snipped open the tape and lifted off the lid. She cried out involuntarily. Inside were six roses, dried, withered and obscene like tiny skeletons lying side by side in a miniature coffin. There was a sheet of paper wrapped around them which she gingerly removed, and on it was one of her own wedding photos, but her face had been obliterated by the frenzied scribble of a black marker pen. The caption typed underneath read: A flower that isn’t nurtured withers and dies. I’m going to make sure it happens to you. Happy Anniversary.

  Bright lights flashed behind Lucy’s eyes and she felt faint, bile rising suddenly in her throat again. Thank God for the downstairs cloakroom.

  When the retching had finished, she threw cold water on her face, and looked up into the mirror. Wither and die? It was already happening. Her skin was pale and her cheeks sunken. Lately she’d had to start wearing a belt with her favourite jeans, to keep them up. Last week alone three different people had asked her if she was all right, or told her how tired she looked. When she lifted the phone she was unable to control the tremor in her hand.

  Millie had already left, so Lucy spoke to her voicemail.

  The message was simple: ‘DC Khatoon, it’s Lucy Jarrett. Something else came today.’

  Millie picked up the message first thing on Tuesday morning and went straight out to see Lucy. She looked as grey and ill as she had the day before. ‘Are you sure you’re not sickening for something?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lucy said wearily. ‘I do feel lousy and I’ve been sick again this morning.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in an hour.’

  ‘You’re not -’ Millie began.

  ‘Oh, God, no. Could you imagine? I think Will would kill me.’

  Millie wondered if she realised what she had just said. Lucy took her through to the kitchen where the box lay on the table.

  ‘Where is Will?’ Millie asked.

  ‘They’re in the north Midlands tonight, he’ll be back tomorrow. He called this morning. I think he’s forgiven me.’

  ‘For what? For being afraid and asking for help?’ Millie was incredulous. ‘You shouldn’t let him make you feel bad.’

  ‘I know. How did it go with Michael Kerrigan?’

  ‘Well, he has admitted to being here on the estate, though not at the time we were told. He said he was canvassing for work, though, laying tarmac drives.’

  ‘Maybe he was.’ Lucy got up and went over to the kitchen drawer. She sorted through some leaflets. ‘I had this through the door a couple of weeks ago.’ She passed Millie a roughly printed leaflet offering just those services, complete with mobile number. Taking out her phone, Millie tapped in the digits. It rang a few times, then the unmistakable voice of Michael Kerrigan cut in, inviting her to leave a message.

  ‘So, he has been around here. Perhaps he already knew which house was yours,’ Millie said. ‘But we’d need more evidence to bring him in. Did you mention to his wife that you weren’t planning children?’

  ‘I might have, I really don’t remember. And what about these?’ Lucy pushed the box across to Millie. Just looking at it put a catch in her throat.

  Millie carefully lifted the lid. ‘What’s the anniversary?’ she asked, examining the ruined picture.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s way too soon to be Will’s and mine. I’ve racked my brains but I can’t think of anything else.’

  ‘Who would have had access to your wedding photos?’

  ‘Lots of people,’ Lucy said. ‘We had them put online and when we sent out thank-you cards for gifts we put the web address inside the card. Anyone who had that address could then access the photos and print off what they wanted. I gave the address to a couple of other people who wanted to see them.’

  ‘Kerrigan’s wife?’ Millie asked.

  ‘No, I’m sure I wouldn’t have given it to her. I hardly know her.’

  ‘I’ll need the name of the photographer, and a list of your wedding guests.’

  ‘I’ll get it for you.’ Moments later she was back with a business card. ‘The wedding guests are on the computer. You’ll just need to print them off.’

  When Millie returned to Granville Lane armed with the information Lucy had given her, CID was still pretty deserted. The first thing she did at her desk was to phone the wedding photographers. They couldn’t tell her there and then who had accessed Lucy Jarrett’s photographs but promised to find out and get back to her later in the day.

  Millie looked up and called a greeting as Tony Knox came in. As he walked past her desk to get to his own, he stopped in his tracks. ‘What’ve you got there?’ he asked, looking at the flower box in its evidence bag.

  ‘Lucy Jarrett got sent them yesterday,’ Millie said. ‘Lovely, aren’t they?’

  But Knox was just staring at them.

  ‘What is it?’

  Ignoring the question, Knox went over to his own desk and sorted through the mess of paper till he came up with a copy of Nina Silvero’s florist card. ‘Snap,’ he said, slapping it down next to Lucy Jarrett’s box. ‘Soon as the boss gets in we need to talk.’

  Mariner spent the drive in to Granville Lane playing over in his head the fiasco at the weekend. Kat had stayed out until late again last night, and they had stepped carefully around each other once more at breakfast. Then, just as he was leaving, she’d fixed him with those huge grey eyes and said, ‘I think I like to get my own place.’

  His pathetic response had been a smile, at least he hoped that was how it looked, and ‘Sure, we’ll talk about it.’ And after that he’d escaped as fast as he could. She hated him, he thought; him and his assumptions.

  Millie would probably know what to do, but when he walked into CID his DS and DC were clearly waiting for him with urgent issues of their own. Along with three strong coffees, he called them both into his office.

  Millie showed him the flowers that Lucy Jarrett had received. ‘Tony says we need to discuss these but won’t say why,’ she said.

  Taking the box in its evidence bag, Mariner turned it over in his hands. ‘Birmingham postmark,’ he said, to no one in particular. He
glanced up at Millie. ‘We haven’t got Nina Silvero’s flowers, and Rachel Hordern never saw them, but from her description they sound the same -’

  ‘And this is definitely the same message.’ Knox held up the card and the picture for comparison.

  Mariner was still trying to absorb this development. ‘Christ, this is too close to be pure coincidence.’

  Millie too was looking stunned. ‘So these cases are linked?’

  ‘How else do we explain it?’ said Knox.

  ‘I didn’t think much of it at the time,’ Mariner said. ‘It seemed almost incidental, but Rachel said her stepmother had some funny phone calls about this time last year, and then she received the flowers.’

  ‘Well, Lucy Jarrett has been getting the funny phone calls, and now she’s had the flowers.’ Millie paled. ‘God, does that mean someone’s planning for her to meet the same end as Nina Silvero?’

  ‘Let’s stay calm about this,’ Mariner said. ‘Even if they are, we might have a bit of time. For Nina Silvero there’s been a gap of a year between the flowers and her murder, though Christ alone knows what that means. But I’m not aware of anything else that links these two women.’ A glance at his sergeant and constable confirmed that neither were they. ‘We need to think about who we’ve got in the frame for each of these and try to find some kind of connection.’ Mariner stood up, went over to the window and pushed it open a couple of inches. ‘Make yourselves comfortable, we may be here a while.’

  ‘We should get Charlie in on this too,’ Millie said, seeing Charlie Glover out in the bull pen, at his desk. ‘He’s got previous experience of one of my possible suspects.’

  ‘We could certainly do with the extra brain power,’ Mariner said, and summoned Glover into the meeting, explaining briefly where they were up to. Then he turned to Millie. ‘Take us through what you’ve got so far.’

  Millie cleared her throat. ‘As you know, the main thing I’ve been investigating is nuisance phone calls, post and emails, and the possibility that someone might be following Lucy. I still haven’t ruled out her husband. He remains the person with the most opportunity to set everything up and, if we acknowledge the possibility that he and Tess Maguire have got something going on, he’s also got the motive too.’ She glanced up at Charlie. ‘We also have an Irish connection. About three weeks ago an Irishman was on Lucy’s estate asking where exactly she lived. Leigh Hawkins’ band is essentially Irish. But there’s only circumstantial evidence so far. We found nothing incriminating on Will’s computer. Max is trying to locate the source of all the spam emails Lucy has been getting, so that will tell us more. And Asheville police have put him in the clear; he’s not wanted for any criminal activity, nor does he have any other wives and families over there.’

  ‘Mr Squeaky Clean,’ Knox remarked.

  ‘That’s how it seems,’ Millie agreed.

  ‘And no connection with Nina Silvero that springs to mind,’ added Mariner. ‘I can’t think how their paths might cross. The women are different ages, live in different parts of the city, different careers. I can’t imagine Nina Silvero being a big folk fan. I seem to remember her CD collection being mostly classical works, though we can easily check with Rachel.’

  ‘Rachel has a toddler, and Lucy’s a health visitor,’ Knox said. ‘Could it be professional?’

  Mariner shook his head. ‘The Horderns have lived in Somerset since before Harry was born.’

  ‘Also, if Will’s motive is to get his hands on half Lucy’s worldly goods, where does Nina Silvero come in?’ said Millie. ‘The only possibility might be that Nina knew what he was up to, but, given that there’s no evidence they even knew each other, that doesn’t stand up.’

  ‘What about the jealous friend?’ Mariner asked.

  Millie was doubtful. ‘No, I’m not sure about Julie-Ann. She was round the other night and she and Lucy seemed pretty close.’

  ‘So who else have you got?’

  ‘Well, if the mysterious Irishman isn’t a band member, there’s also Michael Kerrigan.’

  Mariner leaned forward, suddenly interested. ‘I know that name,’ he said.

  ‘He’s on our books for past misdemeanours,’ Glover said. ‘I’ve had a couple of run-ins with him, and he didn’t take kindly to Lucy’s referral to social services. He admits to being on Lucy’s estate looking for work tarmacking drives, but not at the time our witness says.’

  ‘Could she be mistaken?’ asked Mariner.

  ‘We’re talking weeks ago, so, yes, she could,’ Millie said.

  ‘Nina Silvero’s drive had been recently tarmacked,’ Mariner recalled. ‘It was still sticky.’

  ‘But what’s the motive, boss?’ Knox asked. ‘At a stretch I can see why Kerrigan might have had reason to be annoyed with Lucy Jarrett. And perhaps he did a new drive for Nina Silvero, but what possible motive could he have for such a malicious attack on her?’

  ‘Maybe she made some derogatory comment about travellers, ’ Glover speculated. ‘He’s pretty touchy about stuff like that.’

  ‘He wouldn’t kill her for it, though,’ Knox said.

  ‘I couldn’t see Nina Silvero inviting him into the house either,’ said Millie.

  ‘Or Kerrigan as a Chardonnay drinker, for that matter,’ Glover conceded.

  They sat in silence for a moment, thinking.

  ‘OK, let’s approach this from the other angle,’ said Mariner. ‘What we’ve got for Nina Silvero. Tony, can you run through it for us?’

  ‘Well, if we start with opportunity again, the most likely candidates are her stepdaughter Rachel and dancing “partner” Susan Brady,’ Knox said. ‘They’re the ones who had most to gain from the will, and they’re the ones who would have had easiest access. We also know that Rachel quarrelled with her stepmother just a couple of weeks ago. She’s given us her version of events on the evening Nina died; that she was on the phone to her stepmother when the unknown visitor arrived, but, since no one saw this person, we only have her word for it. Hordern and Brady could be in it together; Brady carrying out the murder. They looked pretty tight at the funeral, even though they’d said they didn’t have much to do with each other any more, and Brady is definitely someone Nina Silvero would have invited in.’

  ‘But the motive doesn’t transfer,’ Millie said. ‘What possible reason could either Rachel or Susan have for terrorising Lucy Jarrett? There’s no indication that they know each other.’

  ‘Do we know that for sure?’ Mariner’s question was met with silence. ‘They’re all around the same age,’ he went on. ‘We need to check that out. Aside from them, the strongest lead we’ve got for Nina Silvero is Billy Hughes’ family.’ He described what he learned about the past case to Millie and Glover.

  ‘They certainly have reason to hold a grudge against Nina Silvero, but again it doesn’t tell us where Lucy fits in,’ Knox said.

  Mariner rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Maybe we’re looking for someone that doesn’t exist.’

  ‘But these exist all right, boss.’ Knox picked up the flowers. ‘Same MO; could be a coincidence. But same wording on the notes? It has to be more than that.’

  ‘Ronnie Silvero was a Mason,’ Mariner said. ‘But we probably shouldn’t hold that against him.’

  ‘Paul Copeland was a Mason, too,’ said Millie.

  ‘Paul Copeland?’

  ‘Lucy’s father.’

  Mariner scrabbled around his desk until he found his notes from the Billy Hughes file, and flicked through until he found the right page. ‘Gotcha,’ he said. ‘I knew I recognised the name. Paul Copeland was on the public inquiry into Billy Hughes’ death. Which brings us back again to the Hughes family. I think we need to pay them another visit. Meanwhile, keep plugging away on the leads we’ve already got and we’ll convene again later today.’

  On the way out to West Heath, Mariner slammed on his brakes as a car shot out in front of him at a mini roundabout, allowing access from yet another brand-new housing estate. He only just missed the o
ffending vehicle, and blared his horn and gesticulated.

  ‘You’re meant to give way to traffic from the right, moron!’ he yelled.

  ‘Don’t think he heard you, boss,’ said Knox drily.

  The development was not dissimilar to Lucy Jarrett’s estate; a mixture of detached executive properties, three-storey townhouses and flats, with wrought-iron balconies.

  ‘Christ, where do all the people come from to live in these places?’ Mariner said. ‘They’re springing up all over the place. What used to be there?’

  ‘Some factory, wasn’t it?’ Knox said.

  ‘That’s right. What was it?’ No doubt yet another product Birmingham can no longer boast. ‘They must have knocked these up pretty smartish. It only closed a couple of years ago.’

  When they got to the address Tracey Hughes had given them, they found a semi-detached, a generation or two older than hers. As Mariner parked up along the street, a car pulled on to the drive. The Hughes family were just returning from a shopping trip; two couples in late middle age and another younger man, late forties or early fifties. While three of the older occupants of the car got out, laden with numerous high-street-store carrier bags, the younger man went round to the remaining passenger door where he helped out the fourth passenger, passing to him the two walking sticks necessary for mobility.

  Mariner and Knox watched and waited until everyone was in the house, allowed five minutes for good measure, then went and rang the bell. The younger man answered it, and this time, when Mariner produced his warrant card, only his speedy reflexes prevented the door from being slammed in his face.

  ‘I understand Mr and Mrs Hughes are staying here,’ Mariner said, keeping his foot firmly in place.