by Joy Ellis
‘And you think Martin sent them?’
‘Who else? It certainly wasn’t her father,’ she said bitterly. ‘That bastard visited once, then rang me and said it was all too traumatic and flew back to the States. We haven’t seen him since.’
‘You’ve tried to find out who sent them?’
‘Oh yes. But they used a town florist and paid cash, via an envelope through the door. No name and no card attached.’
‘It’s certainly odd, but it sounds like something that will never be explained.’
‘Probably not. I certainly can’t ask him now, can I?’
‘So what do we do about the two investigations?’
‘We juggle them. The super has provided a lot of back up to help with Chris Forbes’ murder enquiry, so I suggest you and I delegate as much of the leg work that we possibly can, and meantime we keep digging up all we can about Martin, and these other suspect suicides. And we need to see Martin’s sister again. I’m damn sure she knows something that she wasn’t prepared to tell us last time.’
Joseph nodded, and Nikki could see a flicker of relief in his eyes. Not that she believed it would last for long. Even if their killer was not Sweet, he seemed to be doing a good job in remaining unidentified, which kept Joseph in a permanent state of agitation. And that helped no one.
‘If it helps, I’ll stay on tonight and try to crunch some numbers for the super. Before all this blew up, I’d thought of a way to get a better overall view, cross forces. See what criteria they use, and how they arrive at their figures.’
Nikki hated to say ‘yes’ when Joseph looked so exhausted, but she had the feeling that he wouldn’t rest even if he did go home. There was far too much on his mind. ‘If you could, just a couple of hours would be great.’ She flopped back down in her chair. ‘I’ll stay too, and I’ll send out for a Chinese, if you like?’
‘Suits me, ma’am. Mrs Blakely has threatened a corned beef hash tonight and I’m not too sure I could stomach it.’
‘Mm, doesn’t sound quite your thing, Joseph.’
He threw her a small smile. ‘Oh I’m fine with hash generally, but I happened to see the sell-by date on the tin of corned beef. That’s what’s worrying me.’
‘Ah, right. Chinese it is then.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cat Cullen and the others arrived back just after six. There was little to report, and nothing that would help their identification of Snaz.
‘I can’t believe how sodding thick some people are!’ she grumbled. ‘No one could give us hair colour, no distinguishing marks or tattoos, no label wear or designer clothing, and no name, other than some of them heard Chris call him Snaz.’
‘And since the murder he has conveniently disappeared,’ added Niall, unbuckling his heavy equipment belt.
Nikki remained impassive, she had expected little else. ‘Okay, well you guys get home, grab some sleep and be back early.’ She looked across at the big figure of Dave Harris, who still sat hunched over his computer, doggedly thumping on the keyboard. ‘And that includes you, Dave.’
‘Right you are, ma’am. I’m pretty well finished here.’ He double clicked the mouse and a printer whirred into life. ‘Everything I can find on Amelia Reed and Paul Cousins.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘And there’s quite a bit.’
Nikki took the information from him and went to her office. She had already tried to get hold of Elizabeth Durham, and been greeted by an answerphone. She had left a message asking her to get in touch as a matter of some urgency.
Now, as Joseph was flicking through reams of figures on the computer screen, there was little left for her to do but to tackle Dave’s reports.
She sat back and began to thumb through them. Dave had been his usual thorough self, and even printed off local newspaper articles on the deaths. As she began to read, the stories flooded back to her.
Two deaths that had shocked their nearest and dearest to the core.
Paul Cousins’ horrific method of dying had left several pasty-faced officers searching the railway line for missing internal organs, and his wife requiring long-term psychiatric treatment. Like Martin, he had no money worries, but Paul was surrounded by a close family, and the coming of the first grandchild had apparently been a total joy.
Nikki skimmed down the press cuttings, and words like disbelief, impossible, and bombshell kept reoccurring. The same words that she could use in relation to Martin.
There were similar descriptions regarding Amelia Reed, although the circumstances regarding her death were far more obscure. Did she black-out? Was she held under? Or did she drown herself? Every aspect was hacked around for weeks in the papers. As a woman, she seemed full of fire and had a real passion for helping animals. She was someone who had been known to take on gangs of badger baiters, and on one occasion, before the fox-hunting ban, a full complement of scarlet-coated huntsmen. She had climbed over walls, fences and barbed wire to rescue ill-treated dogs and various forms of livestock, and was thanked by receiving several broken bones and a criminal record.
Not exactly a scaredy-cat, were you, Amelia? thought Nikki.
She turned to another account, read it, then frowned and read it again. A neighbour had reported hearing Amelia remonstrate loudly with someone about an hour before she died, but on investigation there was no indication of anyone else ever being in the house. This was backed up by the fact that one of her dogs, a faithful and possessive Jack Russell, never barked at all during what had seemed like a heated argument.
Nikki quickly checked against the police statements, and found the name of the neighbour. She ran her finger down the details and stopped at the telephone number. This had happened a year ago, but there was a good chance that the person still lived there.
She picked up the phone and dialled.
‘Mr Matthews? Excellent! Now I’m sorry to ring like this, but I was wondering . . .’ Nikki explained that they were reviewing the case and needed his help. They talked for a while, then she thanked him and hung up. She could be wrong, but her gut feeling said otherwise. She grabbed the rest of the notes and hunted through for the PM results.
‘Damn!’ she swore out loud. Then she went over it again. There was a considerable amount of medication in her blood, but no mention of any abnormally high doses of an hallucinogen. She stared at the list of drugs, but apart from a water tablet, they meant nothing to her. She cursed again.
From Mr Matthew’s description of what he had heard, Nikki could have sworn that Amelia was not arguing, but having a bad trip, shouting at demons. That would have answered the problem of no one else having been seen, and the dog not barking. But why didn’t the drug show up in her blood? Maybe it was a Rohypnol type? One that did not stay in the system for long. She pushed the file to one side. That could be it, but she needed Professor Rory Wilkinson to confirm it.
Nikki’s hand hung over the phone, then she stopped. Best to check out the PM on Paul Cousins first.
She scanned the report, but could find nothing from toxicology. With a small snort of irritation, she went through it again. Everything else was there, except the tox screen. ‘Shit!’ The one report she really needed had vanished into the wonderful never-never land of Gone Missing.
‘Food’s here, ma’am.’ Joseph’s voice calmed her somewhat. ‘Shall I bring it in?’
Nikki stood up. ‘No, I’ll come out there. I’m just about to start dusting the ceiling with these old reports.’
‘Sorry about that. I’m not doing too badly actually.’ He set out several foil food trays on his desk and pulled the lids off. ‘Smells good.’ He passed her a fork. ‘I don’t think the super has too much to worry about with these statistics, you know. Whoever compiled them in the first place should be shot. On closer examination, they’ve omitted to take into consideration a lot of regional variables and I suspect that part of it is compiled by estimates based on out of date trends, so to be honest I . . .’
‘Joseph. Speak English. And pass the soy sauce, please.�
�� She took the sachet from him and tore it open. ‘What you are saying is that the survey is crap, is that right?’
‘You do have a remarkable way with words, ma’am. But in a nutshell, yes.’
‘And you can prove that statement?’
‘I should be able to. In fact, given a little longer I can probably produce some pretty convincing data.’
‘Just enough to get the superintendent off the hook will do nicely.’ Nikki eased her fork into some Singapore noodles and transferred them to her plate. ‘You know what is really scary about this?’
‘What the noodles?’
Nikki threw him a hopeless look. ‘No, wally, the stats. If we hadn’t been asked to look at them, we’d never have seen these other suspect cases.’
‘And are they suspect?’ asked Joseph, taking a bite out of a spring roll.
‘I’d stake my pension on the fact that there’s more to both of them than met the eye of the coroner.’
‘That is scary.’
‘And if we’re right, will we find more?’ said Nikki quietly.
‘Let’s sort these first, shall we?’
Before Nikki could answer, Joseph’s phone rang. He flipped it open, stared at it for a while, then closed it again. As he did, his brighter mood seemed to fade.
‘Bryony?’ she asked tentatively.
‘Bryony.’ He pushed some food around his plate, but didn’t eat anything.
‘You think you might be putting her in danger, don’t you?’
Joseph laid his fork down. ‘I need proof about Billy Sweet. Without it, I’m in limbo. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her, would it?’ Nikki wondered why she was encouraging him.
‘I suppose I should. I hate to keep ignoring her calls. After all, I did give her my number.’
Nikki felt a hint of something she didn’t understand; something that she certainly wasn’t going to start analysing right now. ‘Yes. You’re a lot of things, Joseph Easter, but you’re not rude. So ring back and apologise.’
‘Okay, I’ll do it when we’ve eaten.’
‘Do it now.’
‘I need to eat.’
‘Then microwave it later. Go phone Bryony.’
* * *
She watched him as she ate, and although she couldn’t hear the conversation, his body language spoke volumes. Whoever Bryony was, he enjoyed her company, and from the expression on his face, she understood that the woman had forgiven his uncharacteristic bad manners.
Nikki threw away the empty cartons and her paper plate, returned to her office and wondered where that relationship was going to go.
She walked around her desk and sat down. Whatever, it wasn’t her business, but this case was. And she needed to move it forward. She left a message on Rory Wilkinson’s voicemail, and wondered what to do next. Elizabeth Durham was the obvious next stop, but she’d have to wait until the woman rang her.
She looked through the window in her office door and saw Joseph back at his desk, typing with one hand, and eating cooling sweet-and-sour with the other. She smiled. She should be glad for him, pleased that he had found someone. And she was. Of course she was.
With a small shake of her head, Nikki turned back to the reports and began to read.
* * *
It was almost an hour later when Joseph knocked on her door.
‘I’m going to make a move, ma’am, if that’s alright? I’ve set up a regional fact sheet. It’ll take a bit longer to collate all the relevant figures, but I’ve got a lot of information to hand from various agencies.’ He grinned at her. ‘We could get a gold star from the super, if I get it right.’
‘That’s great. Good work, Joseph. Now go meet your lady.’
She wasn’t sure if it was the light, but she thought she saw a reddish hue creep up his neck.
‘It’s just a drink. Give me a chance to explain how difficult it is when there’s an enquiry running.’ He looked a little like a teenager trying to explain himself. ‘I’m going to try to put things on hold until . . .’ he shrugged.
‘I know. Until you have that proof that you are looking for.’ She really did feel like his mother, and she didn’t like that feeling. ‘Now shut up and bugger off. I’ve got work to do.’
* * *
Bryony had suggested a small bar down by the river, and as it was not a regular hang-out place for policemen, he readily agreed.
She had looked hauntingly beautiful when he saw her, and he had felt a strange sadness sweep over him, because he knew that his job could prevent this relationship from ever coming to anything.
They had talked for a couple of hours, and finally Joseph confessed that he was involved in the murder enquiry that was on the whole town’s lips, and that he may have to take a rain check until it was over. And then he told her that even if they did see each other, it was no picnic dating a copper. He would make arrangements, then have to cancel at the last minute. He would not get to ring her when he promised to, and sometimes he may have to work long into the night and not see her at all.
And she had simply smiled and said surely that was par for the course. If she wanted nine to five, she’d date a banker.
The only thing he didn’t tell her was that he feared for her safety.
Around eleven, he called a cab and waited in the bar with her until it arrived.
‘Sort your case out quickly, Joseph,’ she slipped her arm through his. ‘I’ve got plans for us.’
‘I like the sound of that,’ he whispered. ‘And I may have one or two of my own.’
‘Good. I like variety.’ She laughed softly, then looked up as taxi cab drew up outside. ‘Looks like this is me. Can I drop you off?’
‘No, thanks. I like to walk, and it’s in the opposite direction.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to squeeze into the back with me?’
Joseph would have loved nothing better, but knew it was far too dangerous, for several different reasons, and all he could lamely say was, ‘Soon, I promise.’
This time he kissed her. And for a moment, everything was fine in his world. As fine as it got, until he opened his eyes, and on the far side of the street he saw Billy Sweet.
‘Joseph? What . . . ? Oh God, not again!’ Bryony pulled herself away from him and spun around. ‘Where?’ she asked urgently.
‘He’s . . . he was right there.’ He pointed towards the wall that ran along the river bank. ‘Right there.’
‘Then come on!’
To his horror, Bryony sprinted away from him and ran across the road. ‘No!’ He roared. ‘Leave him!’
Bryony faltered, then turned and looked back at him appealingly. ‘We can’t let him get away with this Joseph, whoever he is, he can’t keeping stalking you.’
‘No, Bryony! He could be dangerous!’ He ran across to where she stood, and put his arms tightly around her. ‘At least you saw him this time.’
There was a short pause, then she said, ‘Of course I did, just fleetingly. I think he went over the wall and along that towpath that runs under the bridge.’
‘Did you see his face?’
‘No. It’s too dark.’
‘And he was wearing a blasted hoody,’ he whispered.
‘Look, lady, do you want to go home or not? The clock’s still ticking you know.’
Joseph waved to the taxi driver. ‘She’s just coming.’ He turned back to Bryony. ‘Text or ring me when you get home, okay? Just to let me know you’re safe.’
She pulled her jacket around her. ‘I was just going to say the same thing to you.’ Her lovely face screwed up into an expression of deep concern. ‘Is he something to do with your case?’
‘I have no idea, Bry, but I pray he isn’t.’
‘Please come in the cab with me,’ she urged.
Joseph walked her across the road. ‘Best not. If he is watching me, I don’t want to lead him to your place.’
‘Then take care, Joseph. Take great care.’ She kiss
ed him again, and opened the rear door of the cab. ‘Call me,’ she mouthed through the closed window.
He nodded and the taxi pulled away.
Joseph walked across the road and leaned on the river wall. A little way below him the narrow towpath snaked off and under the bridge, where it disappeared into darkness. It was too late to follow him now. He might have caught him earlier, but certainly not with Bryony to worry about.
Bryony. He pushed his hands deep in his pockets and set off for home. Had he said too much? Or too little? He hadn’t wanted to scare her, but then it would appear that she wasn’t easily scared. Without a second thought, she had taken off like a shot from a gun. He smiled in the darkness, and she wasn’t fazed by his line of work either. So maybe, when the dust settled . . . A frisson of fear snaked between his shoulder blades. He was getting ahead of himself, and there was one nasty glaring fact that he seemed to be trying to avoid. Sweet had seen Bryony. In fact, he’d seen her twice.
The shiver intensified. He’d been a fool. He should never have agreed to meet her. If anything happened to her . . . he couldn’t bear to think about that possibility. Now he was desperate for her call. How long would it take? Fifteen minutes max. He bit his lip, and increased his pace. He just wanted to be back at his digs.
He strode along the river road then branched off towards Salmon Park Gardens. That was the quickest route, and now he was beginning to worry about his landlady as well. What if Sweet got in? He’d think nothing of topping an elderly woman. For her sake, he’d better stay at the nick. He was sure that the boss would make allowances for him under the circumstances. He’d pack a bag as soon as he got home, and then . . . Joseph froze in his tracks, and involuntarily clamped his hands over his ears.
Dear God! Please no! He slowly took his hands away, but still he heard it.
The empty avenue in front of him echoed with a strange, eerie wail. It was high pitched, unearthly, and horribly familiar. He’d only heard it once before, but he would never forget it. It was the terrible keening that Billy Sweet’s throat had produced as he sat in front of those slaughtered women back in the Congo.
He spun around, trying to pin point where it was coming from, but then it abruptly stopped.
