Tiger Blood (DS Webber Mystery Book 2)

by Penny Grubb

  With that, she shut the door.

  Ahmed shrugged and turned away, pulling out his phone. It had grown colder while he’d been inside the café and now the wind was getting up. He could feel damp in the air. It was going to rain. Quickening his pace, he pressed the button and listened to the ring tone as he wondered whether this made it more or less likely that the animal rights group was involved. Will Jones had been the ring-leader; the rest of them had been little more than kids, barely old enough to feel the full force of the law. He’d decided less likely, when he was jerked to a stop by Melinda Webber’s voice in his ear.

  ‘Sorry, there’s no one here to take your call …’

  Of course. He clicked it off. The last call had been Melinda to her husband. He was glad Webber hadn’t answered. That would have been an awkward conversation.

  He clicked in the correct number but Suzie Harmer was on another call. He outlined what he’d found, adding, ‘Can we check up on that theft report? I’m surprised we don’t have anything more recent on him.’

  ‘You on your way back?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be ten minutes. By the way …’ He paused. Melinda Webber’s voice played in his head … the friendly chat … the clipped tones of the answerphone. ‘Has Martyn Webber been anywhere this morning?’

  ‘No, he’s not been out of his office. Why?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  She’d called Webber at home. He’d heard her speak to him … speak to someone … before he’d taken himself out of earshot. As he ended the call, Ahmed turned to glance in the direction he’d seen Melinda take after they’d said goodbye outside the café.

  Chapter 20

  Webber arrived home to the sound of laughter, Mel and Sam. He walked into the living room. They were too engrossed in their game to see him at first. Toys were scattered everywhere. Sam’s laughter ebbed as he stared expectantly at his mother who made a sudden move that bounced a set of plastic cars across the carpet. It was clearly the move Sam was waiting for. His shrill peals of laughter set Melinda off again, to the extent she reached for a tissue to wipe the tears from her eyes. The move brought Webber into her line of sight. She paused, laughter stilled, but a broad smile remained on her face as she looked at him. He grinned back, couldn’t help himself. There was nothing so infectious as Sam’s laugh.

  ‘’gain … ’gain …’ Sam waved his arms in excitement demanding more.

  Melinda got to her feet. ‘OK, Sam, enough for now.’

  Webber saw his son’s face crumple as he watched his mother stand up, but before the ear-splitting wail could form, he was on his knees beside the boy, ruffling his hair and picking up a handful of the scattered toys. ‘Daddy’s turn,’ he declared.

  ‘Don’t overexcite him. He won’t sleep.’

  He glanced up. Mel looked down at them, a smile still playing around her eyes. The laughter that had bubbled up inside him seemed to set into a hard pain. He had to look away. You can’t leave me, he wanted to say, we can’t lose all this, it’s too important. He wanted to plead with her, but it was too soon.

  The boards behind the TV looked undisturbed from the previous night. It occurred to him she might have heard that Suzie Harmer was now on the cold case. Would that make her drop her informal enquiries or make her all the more determined to carry on? It was a conversation they had to have at some level. The cold case nestled too close to more recent anomalies. He didn’t want to be chasing after Harmer for progress reports, but he’d do it if that’s what Mel wanted him to.

  ‘Martyn! You’re getting chalk dust on your trousers. Go and change before you wreck that suit altogether.’

  She took Sam from him as he stood up. He heard her mutter something about dry-cleaning bills as she headed for the kitchen. He slipped out of his jacket, glancing again at the corner by the TV. Had those boards been moved? He stepped closer, reaching out his hand to tip the closest to one side, and saw at once there was a new name on the list.

  Will Jones

  It rang no bells with him. Maybe Mel had beaten the official enquiry to yet another name. But he hadn’t heard anything about the cold case since early morning, so wasn’t sure where they’d got to. Had the boards just fallen back this way or had Mel gone to some trouble to make them look undisturbed?

  ‘Have you spoken to Joyce Yeatman today?’ he called through.

  ‘No, I’m hoping she’ll ring. I left her a message. Something I want to run past her but she hasn’t been back to me.’

  ‘Weren’t you doing a stint at play school this morning?’

  ‘Yes … Oh, and I bumped into Ayaan Ahmed on my way there.’

  Webber paused. Ahmed had been sent out to interview the Tippet’s ex-neighbour and some of Morgan’s old friends. He knew that much from the morning briefing. In his head a map appeared with pins locating the various addresses and Sam’s play school. On my way there?

  ‘Take these up, will you?’ She was at his elbow with a pile of clean laundry. He took it from her.

  ‘How did Ayaan end up anywhere near play school?’

  ‘No, I was just getting …’ As she spoke, she hunched down with Sam and began clearing a way through the fallen toys. He caught the words, ‘shop … those crayon things …’

  ‘Who’s Will Jones?’

  Her head shot round as she gave him a sharp stare. ‘What do you mean?’

  He pointed to the boards. ‘I saw you have a new name on there. I wondered who he was.’

  ‘Oh … Yes, that. I was hoping you could tell me.’

  He shook his head. ‘Sorry, I’ve been all out on the Jenkinson case. I’ve had no time to catch up on anything else.’

  Her eyes narrowed, ‘Martyn, I know that Ayaan’s reporting to the Harmer bitch. Poor sod. You don’t need to pussyfoot around it.’

  ‘I’m not. I haven’t been anywhere near the Morgan case all day. So where did you get Will Jones from? Where does he fit in?’

  Webber couldn’t imagine Ahmed discussing case details with Melinda and even if he had, no one had mentioned a Will Jones this morning. She must know he hadn’t swallowed her tale of a chance meeting, but he didn’t want to challenge her openly. This mustn’t become a fight. He had to know what she was up to.

  She concentrated on Sam as she said, ‘Not sure. And by the way, I’m afraid I mentioned to Ayaan that it was me who told you about Edith Stevenson. I hope that won’t cause any bother.’

  The words in his head were that he wouldn’t let her duck out of Will Jones, but he kept his tone mild as he said, ‘It’ll be fine. Did you tell him how you knew about her?’

  ‘I said I happened to know someone who’d known them all years ago. I didn’t mention Joyce’s name. He didn’t ask.’

  ‘And where did you say you’d got Will Jones?’

  ‘Oh yeah, from Joyce. I just need some more detail …’

  ‘Mel, you haven’t spoken to Joyce today.’

  She glared at him. ‘OK, OK. It was Ayaan. I didn’t want to get him into trouble.’

  Webber was amazed. ‘Ayaan gave you his name? But …’ He stopped. Of course Ahmed hadn’t divulged the name.

  Her stance radiated defensiveness. ‘I saw an email on his phone. I knew it was about the case because of the subject line. It just said Will Jones and an address.’

  ‘Mel, you didn’t go …?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘Anyway, I had to get back across town.’

  ‘OK, I’ll check tomorrow. I’ll find out for you. I don’t know who he is. This is the first I’ve heard of him.’ He pointed at the board, but wasn’t concentrating on Will Jones any more, he was thinking about Mel talking to Ahmed.

  ‘Where exactly did you bump into Ayaan?’

  She told him.

  ‘That’s not far from the Tippets’ ex neighbour,’ he said, watching her. ‘Ayaan will have been on his way to see her.’ She was quite capable of having tracked down the woman herself. Mrs Bell hadn’t been hard to find.

  ‘I thought you said you did
n’t know what they were doing?’

  ‘I was at the early briefing.’ He couldn’t decide whether Melinda had been there to talk to the woman herself, or if she’d known Ahmed would be there and had hung about to catch a word. He had a memory of letting something slip about intending to put Ahmed on to chasing up the old witnesses.

  ‘I’ve still not congratulated Ayaan on the wedding thing,’ he said at random. ‘Not that I’ve seen much of him.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I did. We had quite a talk about all their plans.’

  ‘So is it true it’s an arranged marriage?’ He’d been curious since he’d heard but didn’t know if it was an appropriate question to ask.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What of it?’ Her tone claimed the moral high ground, which irritated him. She’d been curious too. They’d talked about it before the thing with Harmer erupted.

  ‘I’ll go and get changed,’ he said, and headed out of the room.

  * * *

  It was mid-evening. Sam was in bed. Webber could see something about cookery unfolding on the TV but, half dozing and not interested, wasn’t taking it in. He didn’t think Melinda was really watching either. Having Suzie Harmer in the middle of the cold case had put a damper on relaxed conversation on that topic. The television was a convenient way to avoid conversation about anything else.

  Melinda stood up and left the room. She didn’t look at him. Webber watched her go, saw the glow from the kitchen as she turned on the lights, then heard the click of the back door. He wondered what she was doing.

  The sudden ring of the phone made him jump. He stretched back to pluck it from its rest.

  ‘Could I speak to Melinda,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘It’s Joyce Yeatman.’

  Webber eased forward to see through the open doors. The kitchen lay empty, the back door ajar.

  ‘She had to pop out,’ he said into the phone. ‘But she asked me to take a message if you rang.’

  ‘Oh … well … I’m not sure …’

  ‘Is it about Will Jones?’

  ‘Oh, right, you know about it. You must be Martyn.’

  He hovered on the brink of saying no. If this woman wormed her way into the live enquiry, it would be awkward to explain prior contact with her. He settled for an indeterminate grunt that she could take for assent or not.

  ‘She asked me if I’d come across the man, and the answer’s yes. I met him once in the summer of 1996.’

  Keeping the back door in his line of sight, Webber reached for a pen. ‘That’s very precise, Joyce. What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t give you an exact date, not after all this time, but it was that summer. I know because my husband died in the November of that year.’

  ‘I heard. I’m sorry. It was a car crash, wasn’t it?’ As the ghost of Gary Yeatman hovered over the exchange, Webber thought about the official report on Yeatman’s death. Suicide … old-fashioned cruise control set to smash him to pieces … and Arthur Trent … jammed cruise control. It wasn’t supposed to happen in a modern car. The toxicology results were due back tomorrow. ‘You said you met Will Jones only once.’

  ‘He turned up on the doorstep one day. A nice enough young man as I remember. He asked for Gary but Gary was out. I took an address off him.’

  ‘Can you remember what it was?’

  She laughed. ‘You’re as bad as your wife. After all this time, no.’

  ‘But you only saw him once?’

  ‘I told Gary when he got back and he went straight off to see him. When he came back he told me, “You won’t see him again, but if he shows up, call the police.” I remember that clearly.’

  ‘Why? Who was he to Gary?’

  There was a pause. Webber heard Joyce pull in a breath. ‘It’s a long time ago,’ she said.

  He knew better than to push. Melinda would have to get the detail out of her. ‘Thanks for ringing,’ he said. ‘I’ll let Melinda know.’

  ‘There was something else. Would you tell Melinda that I’ve remembered the quintets thing, the photograph. Oh, and tell her I know she wasn’t serious when she left the message, but bizarre as it sounds, she could be right.’

  It was an effort to bite down on a myriad of questions but it would be foolish to press for more. She didn’t trust him. He heard the click of the back door, became aware of movement from the kitchen. There was a fraction of a second to make up his mind. Hand over the phone with Joyce still on the line or cut the call and talk to Mel first.

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ he said into the phone. ‘Thanks.’

  As Melinda re-entered, he was setting the handset back on its rest. ‘There you are. Where have you been?’

  ‘Putting the bins out. Why? Who was on the phone?’

  He told her it was Joyce Yeatman, that he’d called out to her – fingers crossed behind his back – but she hadn’t replied. ‘She knows Will Jones,’ he said. ‘Or rather her husband did. But she held something back. I think she’d tell you.’

  ‘I’m surprised she told you anything.’ She sounded miffed.

  ‘I said you’d asked me to take a message,’ he confessed. ‘I mentioned Will Jones. But there was more, about the quintets.’ He repeated Joyce’s message word for word.

  Her face puckered to a frown. ‘She knows Will Jones and she’s remembered the quintets thing? What, like they’re connected?’

  ‘No,’ said Webber, shaking his head. ‘She said it like they weren’t connected. But what could you be right about? What did she mean?’

  ‘No idea, I just asked if the name Will Jones meant anything to her. Who is he?’ She gave a huff of frustration. ‘Couldn’t you ring Ayaan?’

  ‘Not without him tying it in with talking to you. Did he know you’d seen his phone? How did that happen anyway?’

  She looked at her hands. ‘I borrowed it to make a call.’

  Having extricated him from a sticky situation in Scarborough, Webber wondered if Ahmed was heading for equally deep water here as unwitting intermediary stuck in the crossfire between Mel and Suzie Harmer.

  ‘Oh! Wait a minute …’

  He saw her eyebrows shoot up as the memory came to her. ‘What?’

  ‘I asked if she knew Will Jones, then I said something like, he’s not the one cut off the photo, is he? I really wasn’t serious. It just popped into my head while I was leaving the message.’

  He lifted the handset from its rest and passed it to her. ‘Ring Joyce Yeatman back before it gets too late. Can I …?’

  He indicated that he wanted to stand close enough that he could hear the call. She hesitated. He wondered if she’d tell him to listen on the other line, but she didn’t. Wisps of her hair feathered his cheek as he leant over her listening to the ring tone and then to Joyce Yeatman’s voice apologising for talking to him.

  Melinda reassured her and steered the conversation back to Will Jones. ‘I take it Gary didn’t like him, whoever he was.’

  ‘Gary went wild. I remember it clearly. He was such an even-tempered man usually. I never did find out why. When Gary was wound up about something, he went into his shell. He’d have told me in the end, but he hadn’t got to it when … well, his accident that November.’

  Webber could see that Melinda’s expression was troubled as she murmured sympathetic words into the phone, adding, ‘But Jones never came back?’

  ‘No, I wondered if he might show for the funeral, but no, nothing.’

  ‘So you don’t know anything about him at all.’

  ‘No, but why are you interested in him? I thought it was Pamela Morgan’s death you were looking at.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Melinda admitted. ‘His name cropped up in relation to events back then, but without any detail.’

  Webber wondered exactly how much Joyce knew about Melinda’s informal enquiries. Too much, he was sure.

  ‘Well, Gary did say that thing about the past,’ Joyce said. ‘I’d forgotten that.’

  He glanced sideways to exchange a questioning glance with
Melinda. ‘What thing?’ she said into the phone.

  ‘I asked who Jones was and Gary said, “He’s a real blast from the past, but not my past”. That was before he went off looking for him. I don’t even know for certain that he found him, though I think he must have. Warned him off, I suppose. I’d like to know what it was about. It would close a loop. And you’ll tell me what you find, won’t you? You promised.’

  Webber was aware of some discomfort in Mel as she answered, ‘Yes, of course.’ He couldn’t gauge if it was because he was there to witness that she’d made a promise she shouldn’t have or if it was a promise she didn’t intend to keep.

  ‘But Joyce,’ she went on. ‘You said I was right in my message. Did you mean the photograph? Was it Will Jones cut off the end?’

  ‘It’s odd. I really don’t know. I’m unravelling memories I’d forgotten I had. I’m not sure what’s a real memory and what’s speculation. It was all such a long time ago.’

  ‘But when I showed you the photo,’ said Melinda, her voice animated, ‘you remembered about it being cut … well, you said it rang a kind of a bell.’

  Webber’s mind went over the last few days. She’d shown Joyce the photo? But they’d only talked about it themselves on Friday evening and she hadn’t seen Joyce today. He began a mental track of the weekend that had just gone.

  ‘It’s so long ago,’ Joyce repeated. ‘It was just a photo of a gang of Gary’s old school friends. I barely knew any of them and Gary had lost touch, apart from Pamela. But I’ve just got this picture in my head now of Gary cutting someone off the end. But maybe I’m making it up out of the things we’ve been talking about.’

  Webber drew back so his voice wouldn’t leak into the handset. ‘When?’ he murmured. ‘Ask if it coincided with Will Jones?’

  ‘Was it a reaction to Will Jones turning up? Is that when he did it?’

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that. If it’s a real memory and he did cut that photograph, it was way back.’

  ‘But why did he do it? Didn’t you ask?’

  Joyce sighed. ‘If it happened at all, I must have asked why, but it’s too long ago. I can’t remember. If I ever saw that complete photograph, I only saw it once. And I know I only saw Will Jones once in 1996. But there’s something in my head telling me it’s the same person.’