by J M Gregson
They let his question hang in the air of that quiet room for a moment before they responded: you couldn’t work alongside Percy Peach without becoming schooled in the techniques of pressure. Then Pickering said, ‘In your favour, that is, I grant you. But it could be a bluff, of course. And certain other questions occur to suspicious people like police officers. Such as why it took you so long to come forward. If she was your girlfriend, why didn’t you report her as a missing person when she disappeared?’
‘I kept thinking she’d turn up.’
But he wasn’t looking at them: he was holding something back here. Matthew Hogan’s lips set in the line of a sullen child, who is going to say nothing more because he knows that words will only make matters worse. They couldn’t force him to speak: he was here of his own free will, helping police with their enquiries, as people were encouraged to do. He wasn’t under arrest or caution, wasn’t even being taped.
Pickering went for the sudden switch of subject, which was another of Peach’s techniques for unnerving suspects. ‘Nasty cut you’ve got on your forehead, Mr Hogan. How did you come by that?’
Matt’s hand flew up automatically to the wound he had fingered so often over the last few days. ‘Cupboard door. I walked into it.’
Pickering shook his head slowly, offered a grin that was almost conspiratorial. ‘Not a cupboard door, whatever it was, Matt. We see quite a lot of facial injuries. My guess would be that you got that in a fight.’
‘All right, I did. But it was something and nothing. Just some bloke in a pub – argument that got a bit heated. Ended in a punch-up.’
Pickering shook his head sadly. ‘It wasn’t a punch that did that, Matt. Quite deep. Bled a lot, I should think: wounds do that, when there isn’t a lot of flesh around them. How many stitches?’
‘Five.’ The word was out before Matt Hogan could stop it, almost as if he was proud of the fact.
‘Knife wound, I should think. I’m right, aren’t I?’
This time Matt stayed silent. His tongue seemed to be leading him into trouble.
‘You need to watch the company you keep, Matt. You got away with it this time. It could have been much worse. You could have lost an eye, or even your life. Best avoided, knives, believe me. We see too much of what they can do.’
It was so nearly what the doctor had said to him as he stitched him up in Accident and Emergency that Matt found it very disconcerting. He said stubbornly, ‘This had nothing to do with Annie.’
‘No, I shouldn’t think it did, Matt. Going to tell us why you didn’t report her missing, are you?’
‘I told you: I thought she’d just gone away for a few days. At first I did, anyway. And then I was a bit – well, a bit scared.’
Lucy Blake, who had been studying him in silence for five minutes, said, ‘Scared, Mr Hogan? Now when a strong young man like you has been scared, that’s got to be of interest to us – especially when a missing girl turns up as a corpse. So who was it that scared you?’
‘They didn’t threaten me. Not me personally. But I didn’t like what they were doing to Annie. I didn’t like her being involved with them at all. I was trying to persuade her to give it all up. And then she disappeared.’
Trying to persuade her to give up what, Matt?’
He stared at them with widening eyes, defying them to mock him. ‘Witchcraft. Annie was into witchcraft.’
Seven
‘I need to be able to report progress, Peach.’ Chief Superintendent Thomas Bulstrode Tucker drummed his fingers upon the surface of his large, empty desk and presented himself at his most masterful.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m seeing the Chief Constable later today and I wish to give him the most positive possible report on our CID section. And the thing he will be aware of is this body that was found at the weekend on Pendle Hill.’
‘Yes, sir. And you’ve released the information to radio and television first of all that this was a youngish woman and secondly that this was a murder. So now everyone is very aware of it.’ Percy let out a little of his resentment. ‘And chief constables are only human, after all. Or so people tell me.’
‘There is no need to be flippant, Peach. I want to know whether you are anywhere near to an arrest.’
‘No, sir.’ Even with his years of experience of the man, Percy was still sometimes taken aback by his effrontery.
‘That’s honest, at least. But it’s not good enough, you know.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to come downstairs and take personal charge of the case yourself, sir. Go for a more “hands-on” approach, as they say. I believe that’s the correct expression, sir.’
Tucker was so appalled at this suggestion that for a moment he let it show. Then he resorted to bluster. ‘You know that that is not my approach, Peach. And you should be aware that I have far more important things to concern me.’
‘More important than murder, sir?’ Peach’s mobile eyebrows reared towards his shining bald pate.
‘No, of course not more important than murder. Must you pick me up on everything I say?’
‘Sorry, sir. I was just trying to respond to your queries. Fill you in, as you might say. I’m afraid I don’t have the overview of things which is so necessary in your job, sir. I tend to get bogged down with crime. Especially when the crime is murder.’
Tommy Bloody Tucker looked at him sourly. He suspected irony, but that wasn’t a thing he was very knowledgeable about. You didn’t meet a lot of irony in the police service. ‘I merely meant that I have a mass of paperwork to comprehend and organize. I have to balance our budget, find all the money that you fritter away so prodigally on overtime, present our work in the most favourable possible light to the public …’
Tucker stopped. He was wallowing willy-nilly in the welter of his own waffle, thought Percy Peach. He’d better remember that phrase, for Lucy Blake: he liked it when she giggled in bed. ‘All these things are part of maintaining that masterly panoramic view which is your greatest contribution to our CID section, I’m sure, sir. Your splendid detachment. A rare quality, sir, if I may say so. And one even our respected Chief Constable appears to lack.’
‘Appears to lack, Peach?’ Tucker, always sensitive to any criticism of a superior, took on that baffled look of a low-IQ fish on a marble slab which always lit up his Chief Inspector’s day. ‘I have to warn you that any insult you offer to the CC will be taken as—’
‘Sorry, sir. I was just referring to your opening remarks – when you indicated that the CC would be very concerned to have the latest details on our progress in a murder investigation. Not much of a panoramic view about that, sir. Not much of the detachment which enables you to—’
‘Yes, the murder. Please desist from your scurrilous criticisms of our leader and give me an account of your investigation.’
‘Well, first of all, sir, it definitely is murder. We had to establish that. Method, sir: strangulation. Almost certainly manual strangulation, the pathologist says. By man, woman or child, sir, he says.’
‘Man, woman or child?’ Tucker was back on the fish slab.
‘Sorry about that, but he says at this distance of time it’s impossible to be certain. She could have been surprised from behind, you see, or—’
‘All right, Peach, you needn’t spell out everything! I’m not a simpleton, you know.’
Oh, if only I did know that, thought Percy. ‘She had been dead for approximately four months, sir, though the pathologist says he’d have to give a much wider approximation than that in court.’
‘And where did she die? Do I have to prise everything out of you with a jemmy?’
‘Oh, very droll, sir. The idea of a law-abiding man like you with a jemmy, I mean. Quite amusing!’
‘PEACH!’
‘Sorry, sir. It’s just that you said you didn’t need the obvious things spelling out for you. Makes it confusing for me, that. Well, sir, the pathologist couldn’t give us an informed opinion on where she was killed. Or rather
he could, but his informed opinion wasn’t much help. He said she could have been dispatched at the place where she was found or killed somewhere else and taken there by car.’
‘Sometimes I wonder what we pay these people for.’Tucker’s frown was fearful to behold, a rare attempt to include Peach with him in a condemnation of a malignant outside world.
‘Yes, sir. He said the corpse had degenerated too far for him to learn anything from hypostasis. The body had been lying up there for four months or thereabouts, sir.’
‘They give you any specious excuse, these people. You’re too easily taken in sometimes, Peach.’
‘Yes, sir. I don’t have your panoramic view, sir.’
Tucker glared at him suspiciously but as usual failed to catch his eye. ‘This corpse was discovered on Saturday afternoon last and it’s now Thursday morning. And you haven’t even established the identity of the victim yet. It’s not good enough, Peach. I give you free rein and you—’
‘Victim’s name is Anne Marie Clark, sir.’
‘Eh?’
‘Probably known as Annie, sir. Resident on Raikes Road, Brunton, at the time of her death.’
‘Peach, why wasn’t I informed of this? I stand back and give you your head, on condition that you keep me fully informed and—’
‘Identification confirmed only ten minutes ago, sir. Phone call gave me the results of the mother’s DNA test, which was the only reliable means of identification. Came straight up here to keep you fully informed, sir.’ Peach bit the inside of his lip firmly to prevent the smile that threatened to disrupt his impeccably noncommittal face.
‘A young woman?’
‘Yes, sir. Twenty-three years old at the time of her death, according to information given to DS Blake by her mother.’
Tucker brightened a little, seeing a possibility of reestablishing himself. ‘I expect she was a local prostitute. I suggested that to you on Monday, I believe.’
‘I believe you did, sir, yes. There is no evidence as yet that she was selling her favours around this or any other town. She has certainly no convictions for soliciting, sir.’
‘No criminal record of any kind?’ Tucker did not attempt to conceal his disappointment.
‘No, sir. We know very little about Annie Clark, as yet. As I said, her identity has only just been confirmed. No doubt the Chief Constable will be pleased to hear that we know who the victim is now.’
‘Yes.’ For a moment, Tucker’s visage brightened as he thought of how he would reveal the efficiency of his section to the CC with a becoming modesty. Then he resumed his frown and his drive. ‘Well, you’d better be about your business then. Don’t be sanguine, just because you have an identification.’
Peach’s thoughts were sanguinary rather than sanguine. That was Tommy Bloody Tucker all over. Never a word of praise, always trying to crack his highly ineffective whip. Peach half-turned to go, then stopped. ‘There’s one more fact you should know, sir – to complete your overview of the situation as it stands at present, that is.’
‘Well, what is it?’ Tucker snapped out the question as if he had several other murders requiring his immediate attention.
This is Brunton, not Scotland bleeding Yard, you prat, thought Peach. ‘The girl was pregnant, sir.’
‘Pregnant?’ Tucker looked baffled anew by this latest development.
‘With child, sir.’ Peach was a model of patience. ‘About three months gone at the time of her death, the pathologist thought.’
Tucker leaned forward, raising a thick finger into the air. Peach inclined his barrel of a torso towards him eagerly. ‘One of your insights, sir?’
‘You should get the boyfriend in. Give him a real grilling. I’m not definitely saying you should charge him at this moment, of course, but you mark my—’
‘He’s been in, sir. Lad called Matthew Hogan. Came into the nick of his own free will, as a matter of fact. Helped us to establish the time of the death and the final address of the dead girl, sir.’
‘And what does he say about the … the …’ The finger which had so recently been commanding waved ineffectively in the air.
Peach watched its movements for a moment before he said, ‘The foetus, sir? Not his, sir. Only slept with her in the week before she disappeared, he says.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘No reason not to, at the moment. We shall check it out in due course, sir. Along with a lot of other things.’
‘Anything else?’
Peach pursed his lips. ‘Not sure this is anything to do with her death, sir. Might be a complete red herring, you know.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that, Peach. What is it?’
‘Well, it seems possible that Annie Clark might have been a witch, sir.’
DCI Peach carried the image of his chief as a saucer-eyed cod happily back down the stairs with him.
‘You’re nervous about this, aren’t you? I’ll stay with you, if you like. They can’t stop me doing that.’
‘No, it’s all right. I’m not nervous about it. Not really.’ Heather Shields wished that her flatmate would just shut up and go. That was what they’d agreed. So why did she have to start arguing about it, at the last minute, like this?
‘I’ll only be providing you with moral support. I won’t say anything. They surely can’t object to you having a friend with you.’
If only she’d just shut up and go – leave Heather with time to compose herself for this: suddenly she was certain that she needed that time. ‘It’s all right, Carol – honestly it is. You can’t have anything useful to tell them. You didn’t even know Annie.’
‘Of course I didn’t. But if you’re all on edge like this, they surely can’t object to a friend giving you a little—’
‘I’ll be all right!’ She realized she had shouted, and tried to moderate her tone. ‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help, Carol. But they’ll think I’m wet, won’t they, if I need a nursemaid with me to talk to them?’
‘All right, I was only trying to help. I’ll just go, if that’s how you feel about it!’
She strode into the bedroom and came out with her coat on a minute later. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours. When the VIP visitors who are causing you so much alarm are long gone!’
Heather didn’t trust herself to speak again, merely nodding gratefully as Carol flounced out of the door. She listened to her footsteps on the stairs, to the slam of the outside door as she left the house, and breathed a long sigh of relief. She went into the bedroom and stood in front of the mirror, making adjustments to her hair which it did not need, trying hard to make use of these few minutes that were left to her to collect her thoughts.
It seemed to her only seconds before the bell rang shrilly in the corner of the room. She pressed the button beneath it and a harsh, distorted voice told her that Detective Chief Inspector Peach and Detective Sergeant Blake were here to see Miss Heather Shields, as previously arranged. She put her face to the mouthpiece and said, ‘Come up, please. It’s the first door on the left on the first floor,’ and was pleased to hear how calm her voice sounded.
He was shorter than she had expected, a dapper, bald man in an immaculate grey suit. And it turned out that this Detective Sergeant Blake was a woman. Not much older than she was, Heather thought.
They accepted the seats she had planned for them, on the other side of the dining table in the big living room, with their backs to the kitchen door she had carefully closed ten minutes ago. ‘Nice flats, these,’ the squat man said. He was not unfriendly, but he watched her carefully; he had not taken his eyes off her since they had appeared at the door, and Heather was already finding his scrutiny disconcerting.
‘It’s not usually as tidy as this in here. Good thing you told me you were coming!’ Both of them were smiling at her, but her little giggle rang unnaturally loud in the high room.
‘Well, this shouldn’t take long. But we’re hoping you will be able to give us useful information.’
> ‘Oh, I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell you very much. I didn’t know a lot about Annie, really.’
‘You know a great deal more than we do, at this moment, Miss Shields. We have to build up a picture of a dead girl that we didn’t know at all, through people like you, who knew her when she was alive.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Heather revolved the thought in her mind, then found herself saying abruptly, ‘Was she murdered?’
‘She was, yes. Did you expect that?’
What a strange, disturbing question – one she’d invited, by her own query, but one that she hadn’t anticipated, when she had tried to plan her responses for this meeting. ‘Yes. Well, I suppose when I heard that she’d been found up there, I sort of feared the worst.’
‘Only feared, though. You didn’t actually know anything that made you think she’d been murdered?’
‘No. That’s right.’
‘By person or persons unknown. With malice aforethought.’ Peach rolled out the sonorous legal phrases appreciatively, as he continued to study her in that distracting way. He saw a round, open face in a frame of thick, dark hair that was curled in a curiously old-fashioned style, as if she had tried to straighten it and nature had refused to cooperate.
‘And I suppose when I heard that I was to be visited by a chief inspector and a detective sergeant I realized it must be important.’ Heather giggled again, trying to dissipate the tension she felt building around her. And again it failed, her voice ringing tinny and artificial in her ears.
Lucy Blake produced a small black notebook and took the top off a gold ballpoint pen. ‘How long did Annie Clark share this flat with you, Miss Shields?’
‘It’s Heather.’ She looked for encouragement at the green-eyed woman with the rich chestnut hair, and received a small answering smile and a nod. ‘We were together here for three or four months. No longer than that.’ She wished she hadn’t added that last phrase. It sounded negative, almost as though she had something to hide from them.
