‘Fuck off.’
The DC shuffled in his chair, no doubt wishing he was back in the sixth form, but Sibierski bared his teeth in a grin. A collector’s item, probably the closest he’d ever come to punching the air with glee.
‘Oh dear. Struck a nerve, have I?’
‘She’s dead.’ Harry bit his tongue, trying to control his temper. ‘I’d like to think you would concentrate on finding whoever killed her rather than amusing yourself at my expense.’
‘Touchy, Mr. Devlin. I’m only doing my job.’ His voice sank to a whisper. ‘As for Ms. Cheung being dead, you don’t need to remind me. Two hours ago, I saw her naked body on a cold slab. The man who killed her mutilated her after death and left her body under a thicket for the flies to feast on. Nothing amusing about what I saw in that mortuary, I promise you.’
Harry stared at the wall behind Sibierski’s head, picturing in his mind that pretty, timid woman. Harry, can you spare a minute? Remembering her phone call. I need to talk to you.
‘So you deny being in a relationship with Ms. Cheung?’
There’s nobody else I trust.
Shit. She’d relied on him, and he’d let her down, without even knowing.
His throat was dry. ‘Of course.’
‘You’ve never had sex with her?’
‘No.’
‘Never asked her for sex?’
‘No.’
‘You didn’t argue with her before you took the phone call from Mr. Saxelby and lose your temper—like you did a minute ago?’
‘No.’
‘Easily done. It can happen in an instant. The red mist descends and suddenly you find yourself out of control…’
‘There was never anything sexual between us. I want whoever killed her caught, and quickly.’
Sibierski licked his lips. ‘Where were you on Sunday night?’
The change of tack flummoxed Harry. He felt his cheeks reddening, though he wasn’t sure what he was being accused of.
‘For God’s sake, what’s this all about? I was at home. I was due in court first thing Monday morning. By eleven o’clock I was in bed.’
‘Can anyone corroborate that?’
Harry clenched his fist. Sunday night, yes. When Lee Welch was murdered. No question, Sibierski was loving every moment of this.
‘No.’
‘Well, well.’ Sibierski straightened. ‘All right, you’re free to go.’
Harry was tempted to say thanks for nothing, but he kept his mouth shut. As he reached the door, Sibierski said, ‘Oh, just one more thing.’
‘You’ve being watching too many repeats of Columbo.’
‘The shoes you wore when you went to Runcorn Bridge. We’d like to examine them, if you don’t mind.’
Harry couldn’t stifle a grunt of exasperation. ‘For God’s sake. Do me a favour.’
A slow smile crept across Sibierski’s saturnine features, like a trespasser tiptoeing through a bomb site.
‘All right, I will. I don’t often say this, Mr. Devlin, but I’d like to offer you a bit of free advice for next time we meet.’ He wagged his forefinger. ‘If I were you, I’d hire a decent lawyer.’
***
‘Sibierski is as unpleasant as he’s ugly,’ Carmel said. ‘And that’s saying something.’
They were facing each other across a table in the hospital cafeteria, a chocolate muffin and a cup of tepid coffee in front of each of them. Jim was still unconscious, but Carmel’s mood was bright, verging on febrile. He guessed the doctors had given her something to stave off the blues.
‘What’s the latest?’
‘This afternoon, I called a couple of friends in high places.’ Carmel fiddled with an earring, a habit when her mind worked overtime. ‘The smart money says that Kay was killed by the same man who murdered Denise Onuoha and Lee Welch.’
Harry had dreaded this ever since Sibierski said that the corpse had been mutilated.
‘He strangled her and then cut out her tongue?’
‘You didn’t hear it from me, okay? If the Chief Executive of the Authority finds out I’ve said anything to you, I’ll be the next one to lose a tongue.’
‘Why would Sibierski waste time questioning me?’
A long pause.
‘I hate to break this to you, Harry dear, but you’re bound to be a suspect.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
One look at her face told him she was serious. The room felt airless. His shirt was sweaty and he needed a shower. He’d assumed that, once Sibierski had his fun, the focus would turn to Tom Gunter. A dead woman’s lover must be the prime suspect. But if the case was linked to the other murders, the kaleidoscope shifted.
‘Sibierski didn’t tell me when she was killed.’
‘The forensic boys are keeping their options open at present. All I know is that you were in the vicinity of the crime scene at roughly the right time.’
‘Who found the body?’
‘An elderly mongrel-walker.’ Carmel shivered. ‘Remind me never to get a dog. Throw them a stick and they fetch back a bit of rotting flesh.’
A wave of nausea swept over him. ‘Kay’s tongue was left at the scene too?’
Carmel nodded. ‘Whatever else he is, he isn’t a souvenir hunter.’
‘What does Tom Gunter have to say for himself?’
‘Nothing yet. He’s disappeared. When officers turned up at the Marina flat to break the news of Kay’s death, there was no sign of him.’
Harry banged his fist on the table. ‘Case solved.’
‘Not so fast. Remember what I said about the murders being linked.’
‘If you’re looking for a serial killer, he must be a candidate,’ Harry said. ‘Come to think of it, I saw him the day Lee Welch’s body was found. He seemed to have a lot on his mind.’
‘Doesn’t mean he killed those women, Harry.’
‘Why would he vanish, then?’
‘Wouldn’t you, in his shoes? Come on, Harry. As soon as he got wind that Kay was dead, he’ll have panicked. A man with his criminal CV is bound to attract suspicion. Anyway, there’s another development. The SIO has called in Professor Maeve Hopes for expert assistance.’
‘Were there no psychics or tea-leaf readers available?’
‘We know she’s a media tart, but the PR people are desperate to keep the journalists onside until there’s a positive lead. She’s a specialist in serial killings. The Bridlington Butcher, the Horsham Whisperer, you name it.’
‘So what does her crystal ball reveal?’
‘She says the likely culprit is a white male, operating in a geographical area he knows like the back of his hand. A loner with an over-active imagination, introverted and insecure. Apparently quite normal in everyday life…’
‘Narrows it down to a hundred thousand or so.’
‘You did ask.’
Harry bit into his muffin as savagely as if it were Sibierski’s wagging forefinger. ‘Kay’s murder doesn’t make sense. Denise and Lee were escort girls.’
Carmel sighed. ‘You’re not going to like this.’
Her sorrowful expression bothered him.
‘Please don’t tell me…’
‘Yes, your friend Kay was on the books of Cultural Companions.’
He almost choked on the last of his muffin ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Sorry.’
He closed his eyes.
‘I know you liked her. But she signed up with them a fortnight back.’
‘Gunter must have forced her into it,’ he muttered.
‘Maybe. But they’ve rented a pricey new apartment. He worked as a freelance and didn’t have a guaranteed income. As for Kay, you don’t earn a fortune feeding and watering potted plants.’
He cast his mind back to Monday morning and Kay’s embarrassment when she told him they’d moved to the city. He’d assumed she was aware that Tom had delivered the note about his death on Midsummer’s Eve. But something very different had been on her mind.
<
br /> ‘She wasn’t obliged to offer favours to clients,’ Carmel said. ‘I told you, the foot-soldiers who manage the agency for Casper May and Malachy Needham take pains to make it clear to girls and punters alike that money changes hands only in return for the pleasure of attractive female company. Anything more intimate is strictly forbidden.’
‘But?’
‘What consenting adults get up to in their own time is their own business. The agency claims to be an equal opportunities employer, though I doubt if that extends as far as recruiting fat women with bad breath.’
‘Perhaps Kay took the bosses at face value and some bloke was disappointed when she didn’t let him have his wicked way with her.’
‘You could be right. Chances are, that’s what lies behind these killings. A violent inadequate who takes out his frustrations on vulnerable women.’
‘Not me, though.’
‘Definitely not you, Harry.’ She took a sip of coffee, then pulled a face because it was cold. ‘It would save a lot of grief if you were as well organised as Casper May and came up with an alibi for the murders.’
He shook his head. ‘I was on my own in the flat.’
‘You ought to get out more.’
‘I finish up in enough trouble as it is. Imagine the chaos if I actually tried to enjoy myself.’
For the first time since the attack on Jim, she burst into laughter. Slightly too loud.
‘Poor Harry. But I’m glad you finished with Juliet May.’
His mobile chirped, saving him from the need to answer.
‘Hello?’
‘This is Ceri Hussain.’
He swallowed hard. He hadn’t expected her to call, let alone so soon.
‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine. Is this a bad time to call?’
‘I’m at the hospital. I don’t know whether you heard…’
‘About Jim Crusoe? It’s the talk of the city. Dreadful news. That’s why I called, to see how he is.’
Of course. She was being kind. Not wanting to make another date.
‘They’ve operated on him.’
‘Will he be all right?’
‘We’re waiting for word from the doctors.’
‘I’ll be thinking of you both.’ A pause. ‘I wondered…’
‘Yes?’
‘I did enjoy the other night. Things must be rough for you at the moment.’
He let her words hang, not knowing what to say.
‘You’ll be very busy, but if you felt like getting together for a coffee sometime. Or a bite to eat…’
‘I’d love that.’ He couldn’t believe she was making the move, and felt himself colouring under Carmel’s inquisitive gaze. ‘When would suit you?’
‘Oh, I’m at your disposal. My social life is a bit of a waste land these days. I realise this evening is too short notice, but if you…’
Seize the moment. ‘No, that would be fine. Absolutely fine. Shall we say seven thirty, at The Lido?’
‘Lovely. See you then.’
He switched off the phone and took a breath.
‘Sorry about that.’
Carmel said, ‘Who was it?’
‘Um…nobody special.’
‘Harry Devlin, I’ve known you too long to let you prevaricate. One minute, you crack on that you’re Billy No Mates, the next you fix up a secret tryst. Spill the beans.’
‘No tryst. That was Ceri Hussain. And before you start, we’re not seeing each other. Not the way you mean.’
‘You’re blushing like a nun in a night club!’ she said in triumph. ‘Well, well, you sly dog. Got into her knickers yet?’
‘A couple of evenings back I took her to watch a film at the Alhambra, that’s all.’
Carmel gave a theatrical sigh. ‘I suppose you haven’t called her since? When are you taking her out for a slap-up meal?’
‘Tonight.’ Conscience pricked him. ‘I’m sorry. It’s selfish of me to go wining and dining when Jim is in intensive care.’
‘Don’t be silly. You need a break, you were up half the night and you’ve been flogging your guts out all day.’
Well, not quite all day. Better not mention his afternoon excursion to Juliet’s penthouse, let alone the drama of his hasty exit.
‘No, I’ll ring Ceri back and rearrange.’
‘Don’t you dare.’
‘I can’t leave you to cope on your own.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting I can’t hack it? No way will I let you mess up on this. Jim wouldn’t want that, either. If Ceri is keen, strike while the iron is hot. And don’t waste the evening chatting over the Borth case.’
The Borth case, yes. Harry’s mind strayed down a fresh track. Aled Borth fitted Maeve Hopes’ profile, but so did thousands of men. The difference was, Borth had known one of the dead girls. Perhaps more than one.
‘You look miles away.’ She waved him towards the door. ‘You don’t have to hang around here, you know. It may be hours before there’s any news about Jim. Why don’t you go home and get ready for your night out? You deserve it.’
‘I don’t want to leave you on your own.’
‘I’ll be fine. Promise.’
‘Sorry if I seem distracted. I’ll call you later to see how he is.’
‘It’s good to be distracted sometimes.’
At the door, he hesitated. ‘It’s not thoughts of Ceri that are distracting me. Honest.’
‘What, then?’
‘I don’t suppose your contacts have confirmed whether Borth was a client of Cultural Companions?’
Carmel shook her head. ‘Give them time. There are a lot of leads to follow in a case like this. Most of them going nowhere.’
‘I don’t want to believe that I acted for the man who killed Kay. But there’s something else.’
‘Tell me.’
‘On the morning of the inquest, Borth came into the office. He bumped into my secretary.’
‘Amazing Grace?’
‘I’m sure they knew each other. Nothing was said but they both seemed embarrassed by the encounter.’
Carmel’s mouth opened. ‘You don’t think she’s another escort girl? Keeping company with men who have spooky tastes?’
‘I’m not sure what I think any more.’ His mouth was dry. ‘But if she is on the books of Cultural Companions—I don’t want her to finish up as the next victim.’
Chapter Fourteen
In the square-shouldered shadow cast by the Liver Building, Harry waited at the crossing for the lights to change. The brown stonework of John Newton House gleamed in the early evening sun. Gulls swooped and whirled overhead, and the Strand echoed with the hoot and roar of cars dodging traffic cones beside the brand new highway to the river’s edge. Another skyscraper had begun to soar beyond a freshly built hotel. Invisible behind a security fence, diggers roared like caged animals. The earth was moving, the landscape he’d known all his life changing before his eyes. The city had needed a facelift; he hoped it wouldn’t turn into a heart transplant.
Victor was alone behind the desk at ground level, absorbed in a paperback. On the cover, figures in white paper suits gathered behind a yellow tape marked POLICE—DO NOT CROSS. Wasn’t living above a scene of crime enough for him?
They exchanged grunts of acknowledgment. On the fifth floor, reception was deserted. The palms and ferns seemed to droop, as though mourning for the woman who had cared for them. When he reached Sylvia’s room, he found her locking the door.
‘You’re working late.’
‘I wanted to make sure that everything was under control. I didn’t expect to see you again today. Any news about Jim?’
He shook his head. ‘You’ll be the first to know once Carmel and I hear anything from the medics.’
She sniffed hard. The mask she’d worn all day was flaky at the edges. Her face was pink and blotched, as though she’d shed tears when she thought no-one was around to see.
‘Harry, who would do such a thing?’
‘
He was mugged.’
‘You don’t believe that. Why would a mugger take such a risk, hiding in a secure underground car park? How would he know the security cameras were on the blink?’
‘The city’s full of people who take chances. Even when they’re not stoned out of their minds, they don’t think like you and me.’
Sylvia’s mouth set in an obstinate line. ‘There are so many easy pickings round here. Offices where you can walk straight in. Why go to the trouble of lurking down in that dark and dusty basement? There must be something more to it.’
‘Such as?’
‘This message you received about Midsummer’s Eve. Might that be connected?’
He blinked. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Oh, Harry.’ She scolded like a mother who’d caught her son surfing pornographic websites. ‘Do you imagine you can keep a secret in this place?’
Hard to believe that he’d once congratulated himself for keeping his affair with Juliet quiet. How naïve could he be?
‘Not really. So Jim couldn’t keep his mouth shut?’
‘He was worried for you.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
‘He didn’t want you to stress out over it. But it bothered him.’
‘It was a joke.’
‘Foretelling your death? No, that’s scary.’
‘I’m still in one piece.’
‘It isn’t Midsummer’s Eve yet. And Jim isn’t in one piece any more, is he?’
Her voice trembled. Afraid she was about to cry again, he rested his hand on her shoulder and felt bone under the thin cotton top. She choked back a sob.
‘And then there’s poor Kay. Such a sweet girl. To think that she and I were chatting only the other afternoon.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Nothing special.’ Sylvia frowned. ‘She seemed out of sorts. Wound-up.’
‘What was wrong?’
‘I asked about her new flat. I thought she’d be thrilled. But she didn’t want to talk about it.’
‘Where did they get the money from?’
‘You know what young people are like, Harry.’ She tutted like a censorious grandmother. ‘Live now, pay later. It was all very different when we were kids.’
Waterloo Sunset: A Lake District Mystery #4 (Lake District Mysteries) Page 16
