‘Opportunist thief, then?’
Hunt drew long and satisfyingly on his pint. ‘Hard to say,’ he said, wiping his foamy moustache with the back of his hand. ‘It was a bit on the late side for a real kid, and a bit neat and tidy for a junkie. I thought maybe there was some really rare thing that someone was stealing to order. The way the catch had been slipped looked professional. But then, some of these addicts are virtually pros these days. My guv’nor reckons chummy was looking for something to sell, chose a big house in the hope, and then whacked Jepp when he woke up and hit the alarm.’
‘So how was Jepp killed? Blunt instrument?’ Slider asked casually.
‘Throat cut,’ Hunt said. ‘Right through – hell of a mess in the bed. Amazing how far eight pints will spread.’
‘Hard to cut someone’s throat lying down,’ Slider said.
Hunt gave a mirthless grin. ‘Evidently that’s what chummy thought. Jepp was lying face down with his knees under him. Pathologist reckons the perp dragged him out of bed, turned him round, knelt him down on the bed, and cut his throat from behind. Knew what he was doing – you don’t get so much blood on you that way.’
‘He must have been strong.’
‘Right. Though Jepp’s only a little shorthouse – five foot five or six. But he cut his throat right through first cut – no haggling – so he must have been strong.’
Slider picked up his own pint so as to continue to look casual, but had to put it down again. He was afraid he’d spill it on the way to his mouth. He tried a wild shot. ‘Was there a religious tract left on the body, or by the bed? A card with a verse from the Bible on it?’
Hunt looked surprised. ‘How’d you know that, guv?’ Slider jumped inside, but managed to keep still, as though it was matter-of-fact. ‘Bloody hell, has somebody leaked? My guv’nor’ll be right pissed off if anyone’s been talking.’ He evidently did not see the irony of that comment.
‘What did it say on the card?’ Slider asked casually. ‘What was the verse?’
‘Some bollocks about blood.’ Belated caution visited Hunt. He narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t remember exactly. Probably not important. Here, is that the time? I’d better be getting back.’
But Slider stood too. ‘I think I’d better come and have a talk with your guv’nor,’ he said.
Hunt stared in alarm mingled with resentment. ‘What’s all this about, guv? I thought you just wanted a social drink.’
‘Don’t worry, son, I won’t get you in dutch,’ Slider said.
‘I never told you anything,’ Hunt insisted.
‘Of course you didn’t. It’s just that I’ve got a special interest in the late Mr Jepp.’
DI Gordon Arundel – known behind his back as Gorgeous Gordon or sometimes Glorious Goodwood – was a large and handsome man who left a trail of broken hearts and fractured marriages behind him wherever he served the forces of law and order. He had two ex-wives and seven children that he knew about and his maintenance payments were such that he could now afford to pursue only women who were independently wealthy, which had forced him dangerously high up the social scale. Stories about him were legion; he had now passed almost into legend. ‘Did you hear DI Arundel had a nasty accident? He pulled out quick to avoid a child and fell off the bed.’ ‘Did you hear the Super’s wife’s up the club? It’s a grudge pregnancy – DI Arundel had it in for him.’ And so on.
He was also extremely jealous of his intellectual property, and Slider had much to do to allay his suspicion. Arundel would hardly admit the Jepp case existed, and would divulge nothing about what evidence they might have, though Slider gathered from the tone of his talk that it was not much. It took ten minutes of hard talking to persuade Goodwood even to let him see the Bible card. It was spattered with blood, which was appropriate to its text:
All things are by the law purged with blood; and without shedding of blood is no remission. Hebrews 9: 22.
‘It was on the bedside table,’ Arundel said. ‘It’s a misquotation, in any case. I looked it up. It should say “almost all things”.’
‘Not as punchy as this version,’ Slider said, passing back the plastic bag in which the card resided. It was a disturbing quotation either way, especially taken in conjunction with the one found on Greatrex. ‘I think,’ Slider said cautiously, ‘that it’s just possible we may be looking for the same man. There seem to be similarities in the MO.’
‘Well?’ Arundel said impatiently. ‘What are you saying, we’ve got a serial killer on the loose?’
‘Not exactly.’ Slider told him quickly about Greatrex. ‘I don’t know if there was any connection between them, anything specific, I mean, apart from music and opera generally. But it’s possible someone had a grudge against them both.’
Arundel looked askance at him. ‘It sounds like cobblers to me,’ he said. ‘Just because they both had a card with a Bible text on it. They could both have been given them by the same person. Or your bloke could have given it to my bloke, or vice versa, if they knew each other. Anyway, your man was done in a public place. Mine was done by an intruder. People’s houses get burgled every minute of the day – especially old houses with sash windows.’
‘And the MO?’
‘A throat-cutting’s a throat-cutting. Granted it was done professional, but they all know how to use a knife these days. They’re tooled up by nine years old. If I was to be given a fiver for every kid walking about my ground who had a blade on him, I could retire a rich man. No, take my word, it was a burglary, plain and simple, some coke-head looking for something to sell.’ He looked sidelong at Slider. ‘I wouldn’t like any of your lads trampling over my ground, Bill. Friendly advice. If anything comes up that might be of interest to you, I’ll make sure it gets passed on.’
‘Thanks Gordon.’ Slider stood up. ‘I know I can count on you.’
‘Naturally,’ Arundel said. ‘And you’ll help me in exactly the same way, of course.’ It was meant to be ironic, Slider saw. It was a pity there were so many coppers who saw other coppers as opponents rather than oppos.
Norma brought Mrs Reynolds to Slider’s office door on her way out.
‘Mrs Reynolds has identified the bag, boss.’
‘That’s right, dear,’ Mrs Reynolds said, not one to let someone else speak for her. ‘It was that one, or one just like it.’ Slider had stood up for her, and she gave a little nod of approval for the courtesy. ‘But there’s plenty around, aren’t there? I mean they’re not expensive.’
‘That’s true. But it’s a help anyway, and we’re grateful to you for coming in.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. Got to ’elp each other, haven’t we? And I’ve enjoyed meself. Your young lady here has looked after me beautiful.’ Behind her back Norma rolled her eyes.
‘And you’ve made up a photofit for us of the man, have you?’ Slider asked, more of Norma than Mrs Reynolds, but it was she who answered.
‘Oh yes, I’ve done that. It was a queer feeling, seeing his face come together like that in front of me. I’ll never forget him, nor the look he give me.’
Norma said, ‘It looks faintly familiar, guv, but I can’t place him. Not one of our front-row villains, though I’ve got a strange feeling I’ve seen him somewhere quite recently.’
Slider nodded. ‘When you’ve got a minute, sit down with it quietly and go through your recent cases; and try it against the files. Perhaps you’d like to see Mrs Reynolds out now.’ He gave his best boyish smile to the old lady. ‘Thank you very much for coming in. We really do appreciate your help.’
He flicked a glance at Norma, who ushered the woman out, then asked her to wait in the corridor just a moment and popped back into Slider’s office. ‘No go, guv,’ she said quietly, so that Mrs Reynolds wouldn’t hear. ‘I trundled her right past Somers in the front shop, and she didn’t even glance. And the photofit she’s done doesn’t look anything like him.’
‘Never mind, I didn’t really think—’
He was interrupted by a breathle
ss ejaculation from Mrs Reynolds – ‘Oh, my good Gawd!’ – followed by her hasty re-entrance from the corridor, clutching her bosom in alarm, her eyes wide with urgency. ‘It’s ’im! ’E’s out there! Oh my Gawd, it give me such a fright!’
‘Who?’ Slider said and ‘Where?’ Norma said simultaneously.
‘The bloke I seen by the lift!’ Mrs Reynolds hissed. ‘Go on, quick, ’fore he gets away!’
Slider gestured Norma tersely with his head and she crossed to the door and looked out. ‘There’s no-one there,’ she said.
Mrs Reynolds extended her neck tortoise-like and peered round the door. ‘You bleedin’ blind? Down the end by the coffee machine!’
Norma looked at Slider, shrugged, and stepped out into the corridor. ‘Mills!’ she called. ‘Can you come here a minute?’
Mills appeared opposite the doorway, plastic cup in hand, an enquiring expression on his face. Mrs Reynolds backed, clutching her coat to her neck in an instinctive gesture of alarm. ‘That’s ’im! Keep ’im off me!’
Slider stood up and went to her, laid a soothing hand on her arm. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Mills, one of my team.’
Mrs Reynolds didn’t take her fascinated eyes off Mills. ‘I don’t care. It’s ’im all the same, the bloke I seen by the lift, with the bag.’
‘Are you sure?’ Slider said gently, with a glance at Mills. Mills was still looking at them with the mild enquiry of incomprehension.
‘Course I’m sure,’ she said scornfully. ‘Look at ’im! You couldn’t mistake that face, could you? That’s ’im all right, sure as I stand here.’
‘I suppose you haven’t got a twin brother?’ Slider asked hopelessly. ‘Or a brother who looks a lot like you?’
Mills, sitting glumly on the other side of his desk, looked up from the contemplation of his hands dangling between his knees. ‘I haven’t got a brother of any sort. I’m adopted.’
‘Oh yes, so you are. I’d forgotten.’
Norma smacked her forehead with a reproving hand. ‘And there was I saying I thought the photofit looked familiar and I was sure I’d seen him recently.’
Slider was worried. ‘That photofit is a real problem. She picked that out before she identified him in the corridor, which means she didn’t just point a random finger.’
‘Sir,’ Norma said, ‘Mills was there on the night on duty and she could quite easily have seen him. His face stuck in her memory for some reason, and she’s confused him with the man she saw by the lift. If she actually did see a man by the lift at all. It could all be a figment of her imagination.’
‘It could,’ Slider agreed, ‘but unfortunately she’s a good witness – very sure and very circumstantial. She’ll take some getting past. And she identified the bag.’
‘She might have said yes to any bag we showed her.’
‘She said beforehand it was a blue nylon flight bag. She could have said any colour. I’m afraid I have to take the bag as fact.’
Mills gave a tight smile. ‘Nice try, Norma.’ He looked at Slider. ‘Am I in the clarts, sir?’
‘Do you remember seeing Mrs Reynolds at all? Did you pass her in the corridor or speak to her or anything?’ Slider asked.
‘No sir, not that I remember. But she could have seen me, all the same. I didn’t hide the bag in the lift. I’ve never owned a bag like that. And I didn’t kill Greatrex.’
Slider sighed. ‘I’m afraid it doesn’t look very good, clartwise. I shall have to take you off the case. And I shall have to tell Mr Honeyman. Whether he decides to go further is up to him.’
‘Sir,’ said Mills. He bit his lip, but did not look overpoweringly anxious, which was a comfort. Slider nodded to Norma to go. When they were alone, Mills said, ‘You don’t think I did it, do you, sir?’
‘When I knew you at Charing Cross, I’d have bet my life on you. I suppose I actually did a few times. But I haven’t seen you for ten years. And as I said, in all fairness Mrs Reynolds is a very good witness. She described you moles and all. It speaks volumes about my opinion of you, though, that I didn’t identify you from her description.’
Mills seemed disconcerted by Slider’s less than wholehearted endorsement of him; but he said, ‘Thank you for being frank, anyway, sir. At least I know where I stand.’
Slider leaned forward. ‘Off the record, Mills, I’d still trust you with my life. But I’ve got to keep an open mind, even if it is against my will. Did you have any connection with Greatrex?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’d never seen him before in my life, as far as I can remember. Well, not in the flesh, I mean. Of course I’d seen him on television.’ He gave a strained laugh. ‘It’s fantastic. It’s like asking me if I’d murdered Melvyn Bragg or Jeremy Paxman.’
‘Ah, now we’re talking wish-fulfilment. Well, I take your word for it. But you know we’re going to have to investigate this, don’t you? Go into your past life. Go through your drum.’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide, sir,’ Mills said, meeting his eyes steadily.
‘Examine your movements,’ Slider added on a more worried note. ‘For instance, I have to ask you again what you were doing at the TVC at all on Thursday night. You weren’t on duty.’
‘Ah!’ It was a barely articulated sound of – enlightenment? Realisation of danger? Mills’s dark eyes were full of understanding for an instant, and then he looked away from Slider, and answered neutrally, ‘Like I’ve already told you, guv, I just happened to be passing and saw the mobile go in. So I followed out of curiosity, to see if I could help.’
‘And what were you doing to be just happening to pass?’
‘I’d been to see my auntie earlier. I didn’t want to go home, it not really being much like home yet, so I was walking round the ground, getting my bearings again.’
Slider watched him for a moment, but he didn’t waver. ‘You’re going with that, are you?’
‘It’s the truth.’
The trouble with the truth was that it was so often entirely unconvincing. A good, well-woven, colour-co-ordinated suit of fiction could always outclass it; but Slider could hardly say that to his subordinate.
‘I’m very, very unhappy about this, Slider,’ Honeyman said, like an enraged cairn terrier. No, strike that simile – it made Slider immediately envisage a small pink bow on the top of his boss’s head, which wouldn’t do at all.
‘I’m not very pleased myself, sir,’ he murmured, fixing his eyes on the bridge of Honeyman’s nose, about which there was nothing risible, except its being part of Honeyman.
‘It was bad enough having to announce that we don’t think it was suicide after all, after four days of investigation—’ He glared at Slider as though daring him to say he had favoured murder from the beginning. Kamikaze was not high on Slider’s list of hobbies, and he kept a respectful silence. ‘I was anticipating some upsetting analyses in the papers, though I did hope for sympathy from the BBC. At least they would understand the difficulties we were labouring under. But now this – this—!’
He slapped his hand down on the copy of the Evening Standard whose front page was half obscured by the thick black headline OWN GOAL and the only slightly smaller subhead MEDIA-STAR MURDER – COPS NAB ONE OF THEIR OWN. Slider didn’t like to mention the later edition which had just come out, which Honeyman hadn’t seen yet. It was on Slider’s desk at that moment, and two-thirds of the page was now occupied by only three words: BILL THE RIPPER?
‘At least they haven’t got a picture,’ Slider said comfortingly. ‘In fact, they haven’t even named Mills – just “a detective investigating the case”.’
In fact, of course, in tabloids the size of the headline was always inversely proportionate to the amount of actual substance to the text. If there’d been enough story to fill the front page, they wouldn’t have needed the heavyweight, scandalsized, 144-point scream.
‘It can only be a matter of time,’ Honeyman said. ‘But in any case that isn’t the point. The
point is that someone has leaked, and on this of all issues, the most sensitive, embarrassing subject of all. It’s going to make us look complete fools!’
For ‘us’, read ‘me’, Slider thought.
‘I want to know who it was who gave the story to the papers! I want a full investigation, and when the culprit is found, I warn you, Slider, I shall have no mercy! This sort of thing has got to be stopped. I shall come down on him as heavily as I possibly can!’ He stamped away a few steps and back again in uncontainable rage. ‘What is Mr Wetherspoon going to think? What do you think the Divisional Commander’s going to think? It’ll be all over the dailies tomorrow, and there’s no knowing how far it may go.’ Honeyman’s eyes bulged at the awful prospect. ‘Imagine what the ADC’s going to be reading over his breakfast marmalade!’
‘I think it much more likely the leak came from the witness, sir,’ Slider said. ‘The fact that there’s no name mentioned suggests that. She probably just said something to a neighbour and the neighbour’s phoned the local paper with it, and it’s gone on from there. But it hardly matters—’
‘Oh, I’m glad you think that! I’m very glad indeed you think it doesn’t matter that we’re marked with sending a man out to investigate his own murder!’ Honeyman moaned as the whole of his pension flashed before his eyes. ‘We’ll never live this down!’
‘What I meant, sir, was that the important thing is to sort out what this accusation means. Recriminations can wait until later, but Mills’s whole life and career are on the line here.’
‘Career!’ Honeyman ejaculated helplessly; but then he pulled himself together. ‘Carver tells me you worked with Mills some time ago.’
‘Yes, sir, for three years at Charing Cross.’
‘And what sort of officer was he?’
‘The best, sir. Quiet, efficient, conscientious.’
‘You had no doubts about his honesty?’
Blood Lines Page 18
