Tiger Blood (DS Webber Mystery Book 2)

by Penny Grubb

  An image floated in front of him of the second Mrs Drake marching unawares in the footsteps of Tom Jenkinson and Arthur Trent. He had no idea how long she’d been a part of the grisly pageant, but now for reasons no one had begun to fathom she had Suzie right beside her. And Drake knew something that would lead them to both women … two women and one child … his child. There wasn’t time to process Drake properly, nor to work out just who he was protecting or why. All he had to play on was the man’s guilty secret from years ago. Saint-bloody-Pamela would be his ally softening him up and then squeezing him dry. On the far wall an old-fashioned clock ticked loudly marking down time to the intended sabotage at three junctions across the city.

  ‘But once you remembered this John Brown, you recalled the way he signed off his … letters would they have been back then? JB, just the initials.’

  ‘That’s right. It’s funny what pops out of your head. Though I suppose it’s not relevant to anything.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Webber spoke mildly, aware of Ahmed’s intense scrutiny. ‘So you remembered the way JB signed his letters years ago but you didn’t think to say that Sergeant Harmer had left a printout behind earlier today.’

  ‘Didn’t I? I’m sure I did.’

  ‘To me and DC Ahmed, yes, but not to DI Davis.’ He turned to Ahmed. ‘I’m not saying it happened this way but has Mr Drake had the opportunity to create that so-called email from scratch since you got back here?’ Ahmed became very still for a second and then gave Webber a brief nod. Webber turned back to Drake. ‘So what else can you tell me about Tilly Brown’s brother?’

  Webber kept his gaze on the curtained window, Ahmed stood in his peripheral vision, his stare bouncing from Drake to Webber and back again. Webber concentrated on Drake’s voice.

  Ignoring the accusation about the email, Drake said, ‘It’s all a very long time ago, Superintendent. What sort of things are you looking for?’

  ‘Was he at the same school with you?’

  ‘Uh … no, I don’t think so. It’s a long time ago,’ he repeated. ‘I didn’t know the family that well.’

  ‘Didn’t know them, Mr Drake? What about Tilly and the quintets? You were one of them.’

  Webber saw Ahmed’s stare snap to Drake who responded with an angry snort. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tilly Brown and her family left the area long before …’

  ‘Long before what?’

  ‘The whole quintets thing. And that was all childish nonsense anyway.’

  The childhood injustices still stung. Webber could hear it in Drake’s tone. He turned to face him. ‘Tilly Brown was an only child. There was no brother.’ As Drake sat forward to speak, Webber held up his hand. ‘I’m sure you can concoct a story to fit, Mr Drake, but don’t. I’m going to suggest something and you tell me if you think it’s a good idea.’

  He speared Ahmed with a look, wanting him to understand that explanations would be forthcoming in due course and he must keep a lid on it for now.

  ‘Let’s make this genuinely off the record,’ he said. ‘Ayaan here can go and find you a change of clothes. I assume you’d prefer to wear something better than those rags when we take you in again.’

  Drake smiled. ‘You’re almost tempting me, Superintendent, but I have a problem in that I can’t trust you. What guarantees do I have that it would be genuinely off the record?’

  Webber surveyed Drake with some irritation as he sat in his ridiculously tatty suit. He imagined Melinda’s reaction if he should take to wearing rags, even if it was confined to their own garden. Annoyingly, although Drake had taken the bait, he had a point. ‘Nothing you tell me in these circumstances can be used in evidence,’ he said. ‘And nothing’s being recorded. I can give Ayaan my phone if you want to make sure.’ Drake still looked at him with suspicion. The clock ticked on into the silence. ‘You can frisk me for electronic devices if you want.’

  Ahmed looked aghast, but Drake was weighing the offer. ‘OK,’ he said, suddenly business-like as he pulled himself to his feet. Ahmed took half a step forward as though to offer Drake his arm, but Drake steadied himself.

  Webber handed his phone to a clearly appalled Ahmed who stood open-mouthed as Drake subjected Webber to a thorough frisking, even getting down on his knees to check for hidden pockets and wires. Webber offered him his arm to get back to his feet.

  ‘Satisfied, Mr Drake?’ Drake nodded. Webber turned to Ahmed. ‘Make yourself scarce. Look out some decent clothes for Mr Drake. We won’t be long.’

  Drake watched the door close behind Ahmed then moved to the table in the window. ‘Over here, Superintendent, just in case your monkey’s listening at the door.’

  Webber shrugged and moved to sit the other side of the table. Drake had spoken loud enough for Ahmed to hear if he was in earshot. It seemed a needless insult. Up to now he’d had an ally in Ahmed.

  ‘The JB thing,’ Webber said. ‘You made that up, manufactured the email. Suzie Harmer didn’t leave anything on the printer. Why did you do that?’

  Drake smiled. ‘I wanted a lift home. Anyway you deserved it for the way you’ve messed me about today. Sergeant Harmer was all over those emails. No warrant or anything.’

  Webber felt the thump of his heart. Don’t let it be as simple as wanting a lift, he prayed. He surely hadn’t got it that wrong.

  ‘No warrant needed when you give permission. You could have refused her.’ He reflected that Drake might not be so prickly if he knew Suzie had gone missing. He wasn’t to know that she’d been in touch with Ahmed after she’d left his house. Webber squirreled it away as a potential angle to use if needed, adding, ‘Think yourself lucky you’re not in worse trouble.’

  Drake gave a laugh. ‘You say you’re going to arrest me for murder. How much more trouble can I be in? And by the way I didn’t do it. I want to know …’

  Webber held up his hand. ‘All in good time, Mr Drake. We’re not going to find anything on that laptop, are we?’

  ‘No, I wiped it after she’d gone.’

  Webber suppressed a smile. That was what he wanted to hear. The alternative was that Drake had swapped machines on them. The man was no techie. He wouldn’t have cleaned the PC effectively enough. ‘Your wife won’t be too pleased that you’ve deleted all her stuff.’

  ‘She’s two choices.’

  The words were offhand in a way that surprised Webber. The power balance in this marriage wasn’t the way Ahmed had read it. Yet he didn’t doubt Drake’s reaction to his wife’s suicide attempt. The shock had hospitalised him. He veered away from his intended questions to say, ‘I don’t get the impression there’s a great deal of affection between you and your wife.’

  ‘There isn’t any,’ Drake said. ‘Never was.’

  ‘Then why did you marry?’

  ‘She’s greedy. If I die before her, she’ll inherit a tidy sum. Good odds with the age difference.’

  That was honest enough. ‘That doesn’t explain why you married her.’

  ‘Oh, much the same reason. I’ll be in for a small fortune if she dies first. Insurance. Longer odds, better pay out.’

  Webber remembered Ahmed’s report of Drake after his wife’s suicide attempt – shocked and angry. ‘But it wouldn’t pay out for suicide,’ he guessed.

  ‘Yes, it’ll pay,’ said Drake. ‘I made sure of that, the way she is. There was always a chance she’d do herself in before she drove me into doing it for her.’

  Webber stared at Drake whose gaze was unfocused, voice hard. His tone said he was speaking figuratively but did he realise how it had sounded? ‘Then why were you so upset?’

  Drake looked up to meet his eye and gave a cold laugh. ‘It has to be two years. She knows that. She timed it so she’d die one day short and I wouldn’t get a penny. God, it was close!’ The anger was unmistakeable now. Webber prayed that the raised voice wouldn’t bring Ahmed crashing in. Drake was breathing hard. ‘Can you imagine …?’ He stopped suddenly as though remembering the context of the conve
rsation. With a glance towards the door, he made a visible effort to calm himself, lowered his voice and leant forward, eyes hard. ‘Can you imagine having that happen twice?’

  Webber felt a frisson of shock stand up the hairs at the back of his neck. He hadn’t expected this. ‘Tina Tippet?’ he said.

  ‘Tina lied to me,’ Drake said. ‘Told me the policies were identical. Turned out hers was dated differently. That was Brad’s work.’

  ‘Brad was right,’ Webber said. ‘You killed her.’

  Drake laughed. ‘I do hope you’re not looking for a confession.’

  Webber felt shaken. This wasn’t what he’d been digging for. He had to keep going because of Suzie and Tiffany Drake. Thank God Suzie had made it out of this man’s clutches, but whose had she walked into? Somewhere along the way, this bunch had become entangled with the people responsible for Jenkinson, Trent and probably Will Jones and Gary Yeatman all those years ago. Drake was not only covering for them, he had been nursing darker secrets than Webber had anticipated.

  ‘About Pamela,’ Drake said. ‘I need you to tell me …’

  ‘I’m not finished yet, Mr Drake,’ Webber snapped, his strategy derailed. Drake was toying with him. He’d intended it the other way round. There was nothing to do but track a path from the past and hope that he was right about Pamela Morgan. ‘Tell me about Will Jones,’ he said.

  ‘Who? Oh him. What about him? He was sweet on Edie and off his head about the animal cruelty thing. He killed Pammy’s husband.’

  Drake’s speech started out in genuine puzzlement. He hadn’t immediately remembered Will Jones.

  ‘How did he kill him?’ Webber asked.

  Drake gave him a withering look. ‘I’m sure you keep records of these things. Jones went to gaol.’

  ‘Manslaughter,’ said Webber. ‘He didn’t know Morgan was in the warehouse … did he?’

  Drake shrugged. ‘He released the tigers. Ergo he killed him.’

  ‘Yes, but Morgan was already dead. All the tigers did was fight over his body.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Drake with a smile. ‘It’s taken you three decades to figure that out.’

  Webber fought to retain his indifferent demeanour. He’d been right! He’d known this man was desperate to unburden himself. Not entirely right. He’d thought Drake a man with secrets that weighed on his conscience, not a man bursting to get his light out from under a bushel.

  ‘The car I suppose,’ Drake went on. ‘I spent years wondering if it would turn up and I’d forgotten all about it by the time it did. So what was still in there that gave you all that?’

  Webber ignored the question. ‘It must have been a nasty shock when it was stolen. It disappeared in Dorset, didn’t it, and I’m guessing it was just chance that the guy spotted it. I don’t believe he followed you down there.’

  Drake nodded. ‘I had to hitch a lift. It was touch and go getting back in time. I’m sure we left a trail a mile wide for anyone who had the gumption to look. There’ll be nothing to find now.’

  We left a trail? ‘Do you mean you and Edith Stevenson?’ Webber regretted the question as soon as it was out. None of this was relevant. He’d been caught by a sudden curiosity to know the details of the 30-year-old crime but it wasn’t what mattered.

  ‘No, Edie was here creating our alibi,’ Drake said. ‘I was …’

  ‘Never mind about that, Mr Drake,’ Webber interrupted. ‘I want to know …’

  ‘Isn’t it my turn to ask the questions?’ Drake spoke over him.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Webber firmly. ‘Once you’ve told me …’

  ‘No, no, Superintendent. You don’t call all the shots. I’m answering your questions. I’m being very frank with you. And I’ve decided to tell you about that night in Dorset. If you can’t be bothered to listen then let’s call it a day. Get your gofer back in here and be done.’

  ‘OK, OK. If that’s what you want, tell me about Dorset.’

  ‘Interesting logistics,’ Drake began, ‘getting Robert to the right place and …’

  Webber set his gaze somewhere above Drake’s left shoulder. He could see the clock. He’d shown his impatience, shown there was something specific he was after. Drake was going to delay and obfuscate, tell him things from the past but not the present. He would have to let him talk the Dorset thing out. Drake was enjoying telling the tale. This was what he’d heard in the interview with Davis; not so much a secret to be unburdened than a desire to boast about the so-called perfect crime. He’d had few enough people to tell over the years, fewer still as the quintets disappeared. Webber wondered how many of them had known about it. More of the pieces clicked into place. Will Jones’s part in the killing wasn’t as he’d envisaged and the story Drake wove around Gary Yeatman didn’t quite fit with what he knew. Drake knew the score, knew there was no hard evidence left to find. Webber’s best chance was to concentrate on taking in every detail and writing it all down as soon as they finished. That way he’d still be without evidence but would know which track to follow to build a case. The problem was that as soon as he got what he needed all focus would be on finding Suzie. By the time he got to writing out a full account, the finer detail would have disappeared from his memory. He had to move things on and the Pamela card was all he had left.

  ‘Why did you do it to Pamela?’ he said into Drake’s next pause. ‘She’d been a good friend to you.’

  ‘I told you,’ Drake’s eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t do anything to Pammy, but I want to know …’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant what you did to Robert Morgan. Why did you do that to her? She never got over it.’

  ‘Nonsense! Pammy should never have married him. They were going to split up. You didn’t know that, did you?’

  ‘I heard something to that effect.’

  ‘I saved her a very expensive divorce.’

  Drake leant forward, his stare intense. Webber wondered which one of them Drake was trying to convince. He too leant forward reducing the distance between them. Let’s see who blinks first, he thought. ‘You should have given her the choice,’ he said quietly. ‘She would have chosen the divorce. It cut her life in two when Robert died, especially after that botch of a coroner’s court and all the publicity. She had to live with thinking her husband had been eaten alive.’

  Webber could see that Drake was boiling inside. His jaw worked but no words emerged. He looked on the point of striking out. Webber half hoped he would. It might tip the balance. When the words finally came, Drake’s voice was husky and his gaze dropped. ‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘And Pammy knew who was to blame for what happened. That idiot who was sweet on Edie. And now I need to know …’

  Again Webber interrupted but his tone was kind. ‘Just one more thing, Mr Drake, then I’ll tell you what you want to know.’ That was a lie but time was running out. ‘I want to talk about what Sergeant Harmer found when she was here.’

  Drake sat back and laughed, his mood switching from overcast to sunny in a heartbeat. ‘He was greedy, you know, that dirty little car thief.’

  By dirty little car thief Webber assumed Drake meant big brother post office, the eldest of the trio who had disappeared after the raid. ‘Came to you wanting money, did he?’ he guessed.

  ‘Hadn’t had enough from his sordid little theft apparently.’

  ‘Blackmail?’ said Webber. ‘So I take it you hit him and buried him.’

  Drake laughed again. ‘Like I said, no confessions. Well, are you going to come out with it? Sergeant Harmer’s disappeared. You don’t know where she is.’

  Webber froze. No one had told Drake that Suzie was missing. He couldn’t have overheard anything. He’d left the station before they knew themselves. But she’d left this house before she went missing … hadn’t she? ‘What are you saying, Michael?’

  ‘Don’t worry about her ending up in the ground lost for years. I’m not up to digging deep holes these days. Far better sport to leave them out in plain sight. Now wouldn’t it be
ironic,’ Drake glanced at the clock, ‘if Sergeant Harmer gave my wife a lift and then crashed her car and killed them both? I might get compensation from you as well as the insurance.’

  Chapter 52

  Webber sat at his desk head in his hands until a knock at the door made him realise he must look like Michael Drake hunched in that armchair. He snapped upright. ‘Anything?’

  ‘No, but you said to tell you when the search team was on the go.’

  He nodded. It had taken time to get the right expertise on the spot. He suspected poison, something subtle; didn’t want any accidents or anything missed. Drake wouldn’t have said as much as he had if he thought there was anything to find.

  Webber had formally arrested Drake for the murder of Pamela Morgan and sent him away, then he’d waited at the house, resisting the urge to get started before the initial search team arrived. It had been following brief discussion with the woman in charge that they’d decided to send for specialists.

  ‘Christ! It’s cold,’ she’d said. ‘Can we turn on the heating if there is any?’

  ‘Sure.’ He had no compunction about running up Drake’s energy bills, but he’d left them still shivering because the central heating turned out to be solid fuel and there could be no light put to it before everything was raked out and checked.

  As for tracing Suzie, it had become needle in haystack territory. Nothing they tried bore fruit. And the clock crept on … two minutes to eight … just over an hour … what was going to happen at nine o’clock? No traffic light scams, that was for sure, not without Jenkinson’s sleight of hand. It was a smokescreen, some sort of cover for something else altogether.

  Michael Drake was in a cell. Webber had sent a team to question him but Drake was all injured innocence and no comment. He looked very different in the smart suit Ahmed had dug out for him. The last he’d heard from the custody suite was that Drake had settled himself in ‘like one of the regulars’ and fallen asleep.

  Ahmed was raking through files and notes. Webber could see him now, three quarter face, bowed down with guilt. ‘I’ve forgotten something,’ he’d kept saying. ‘Something she said. It all got tangled up in chasing after Mrs Webber.’