by Nick Louth
‘The bastard built an electric chair, probably for Rollason,’ she said.
Gillard walked over and inspected the hefty hardwood chair with buckled canvas restraints on its arms and front legs.
‘Just pop yourself on here, Detective Constable,’ Gillard said. ‘I just want to check if it’s connected.’
‘With all due respect, boss, kiss my arse,’ Rainy replied cheerfully. The male uniformed officer by the door, who had been chuckling at Gillard’s suggestion, gasped at the Glaswegian’s insubordination. Gillard playfully pinched her cheek. ‘What would we do without you, eh?’
‘Shocking behaviour, sir,’ the male uniform ventured.
‘Don’t you start,’ Gillard retorted.
‘It’s clear van Steenis went to a huge amount of trouble, but never got to use his wee chair,’ Rainy said.
‘How do you know?’ Gillard replied.
‘Have you ever read accounts of the effect of electrocution on the human body?’
‘No, I haven’t, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘I dealt with a man who was badly burned trying to steal part of the live overhead cable going from Shotts into Glasgow Central. Aye, he wasn’t a pretty sight. Not to put too fine a point on it, sir, you’d never get rid of the smell of piss and shite from this place, if van Steenis had used his machine.’
‘Point taken, Detective Constable. Trouble is, someone did kill Rollason. If van Steenis had hold of him why didn’t he use the chair?’
* * *
The phone call came at eight thirty on the Sunday morning. Gillard was having a rare lie-in, holding a still-sleeping Sam close, his arm around her shoulder, her warm breath against his neck. It had been a bad night for her, with nightmares and a feeling that she was being suffocated. He had sat up with her in the small hours talking it through. In any PTSD recuperation, he’d been told, there would be setbacks. This was one of them.
He reached for his mobile with his free arm and answered softly. ‘Gillard.’
It was DC Hoskins. ‘Sorry to disturb, sir. We’ve had a missing person report this morning. Rather a curious one.’
‘Really?’ He gradually and carefully extricated himself from Sam’s embrace.
‘It’s the probation officer who was in charge of Rollason.’
‘Leticia Mountjoy?’
‘Yes, sir. Her partner Anton St Jeanne reported her missing a few minutes ago. He’s not seen her since yesterday morning. Normally, as you know, we wouldn’t be that concerned within twenty-four hours, but I thought you should know.’
‘Okay. I’m not due in until this afternoon but keep me informed. Try to trace her mobile, car number plate if relevant, that kind of thing. Make it a priority.’
‘I’ve already started.’
Gillard ended the call, sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. Leticia Mountjoy, Anton St Jeanne, Leroy Ceejay. Leroy was a crook, but of a known type. St Jeanne seemed straight despite his entanglement with Ceejay, while he had no reason to believe that Leticia Mountjoy was anything other than a responsible professional. Yet something here was worrying him.
He rang Graham Morgan. The Special Branch detective inspector reacted with horror to the news Gillard gave him.
‘You know her better than I do,’ Gillard said. ‘Any theories?’
‘No. She’s reliable, capable, level-headed. Though there are others with more experience than her, I think she is doing a good job.’
‘We have two killings to solve, both carried out the same way, but only a motive for one of them. Someone wanted Neville Rollason dead. Whoever had the skill to find out which prison he was leaving on July second could only have got that information from a very small number of people. She is one of them. You are another. If it was her, then that creates a motive for getting her out of the way.’
‘That’s plausible except for the timing,’ Morgan replied. ‘If she provided the information, wittingly or unwittingly, and the killer needs her out of the way, why not act before Rollason’s body was discovered?’
‘That’s a good point. But perhaps the opportunity hadn’t arrived. I don’t know. Can I ask you to make enquiries among her colleagues?’
Gillard had no sooner put the phone down than it rang again.
Hoskins again. ‘Sir, further to the missing Ms Mountjoy: her car’s just been found, burned out on waste ground in Feltham.’
‘Okay. I’ll be in as soon as I can.’ Feltham was just a few miles from Leticia Mountjoy’s home. Gillard rubbed his face. He was beginning to fear for the young woman’s life.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Two days previously
That Verity waited until last thing on Friday afternoon to announce she was leaving took almost everyone by surprise. Leticia knew something was up the moment her boss, having been absent all day, walked into Swan House at four p.m. carrying a large cake. She had never seen Verity with such a flamboyant hairdo or wearing so much eye make-up. The high heels and the black dress gave her the look of a catwalk model, glamorous but undernourished. And she was grinning like a Cheshire cat. She rattled the metal forks in her hand to get everyone’s attention, and declared that today was her last day and after a short holiday she would be taking up a new post in Nottingham.
‘We hadn’t even heard you were going,’ said Adrian Richards.
‘Well, it took a long time to confirm the details of the new post. Jill has known for some weeks but I asked her not to let the details out until it had been confirmed,’ Verity said.
‘What is the new job?’ Leticia asked.
‘I’m going to be head of special services for the disabled in Nottingham City Council.’
‘Ah, I saw that job advertised,’ Richards said. ‘I was thinking of going for that myself.’
Verity then called out to the rest of the staff in the open-plan office that there was carrot cake. ‘Once you’ve finished this, I hope you can all come and join me in the wine bar across the road after work,’ she concluded.
Leticia and Tina exchanged wide-eyed glances. They had never known Verity to go drinking. They weren’t going to miss this for the world.
* * *
The wine bar was already thronged with the after-work crowd when Leticia and Tina got there. Verity was talking to a couple of young men at the bar. She refilled three glasses with a bottle of something fizzy from a silver wine cooler. The only other person from the office who was there was Adrian. He must have sneaked out early from the senior team meeting. She didn’t know most of the rest. As soon as they got to the bar Verity greeted them warmly and called to the barman for another bottle of cava. She seemed genuinely pleased to see both Leticia and Tina.
‘Leticia,’ Verity said. ‘I think you are going to do very well. I know I’m late with your appraisal, but I’m going to tell Jill that I think you should replace me.’
‘Wow, that’s very kind of you,’ Leticia said. It was clear that Verity was already a little bit tipsy, but if that meant she would confide in her that was no bad thing. Leticia was far from sure that she was ready for such a hefty promotion, and her face must have reflected that.
‘No, I mean it.’ Verity leaned close until Leticia could smell the wine on her breath. ‘That little slip-up with you-know-who seems largely to have bypassed our department, I’m glad to say. Bloody Parole Board got it in the neck, if the newspapers are anything to go by.’ She laughed.
Verity was called back to the bar. Two men from the private-sector probation firm downstairs at Swan House were well down the cava, and were clearly interested in her.
Leticia was drawn away by Tina. ‘I can’t believe this,’ she said. ‘Verity is like a new woman.’
‘I suppose she’s just delighted to leave,’ Leticia said. ‘She was under a lot of pressure, and it’s a clean start for her.’
Tina nodded. ‘So maybe she’s not pregnant then. Maybe it’s just the eating disorder.’
Leticia glanced at Verity, still as thin as a rake. �
��Perhaps. She’d be too early to show, but sickness is worst in the early months.’
‘Yes, but she wouldn’t be taking another job just to go straight on maternity leave would she? There’s no better way to get off to a bad start with a new employer.’
Leticia shrugged and turned back to watch Verity, who was clearly flirting with one of the men.
‘Well, there are a lot of firsts today,’ Tina said.
‘Drinks, cake. What else?’ Leticia asked as she sipped her cava.
‘Men, at least in public.’
‘Did you ever meet her ex?’
‘No. But I heard the arguments on the phone, before Verity got her glass box. Now she just rows with her mother.’
Leticia nodded. Tina leaned in to her ear and whispered: ‘Her older brother disappeared when she was young. Never been seen since. Her parents’ marriage broke up, and she and her younger brother don’t really get on.’
‘All that and a bad divorce,’ Leticia said.
The evening wore on. Eventually, at nine, Tina announced she was heading home. Leticia was tempted to follow suit but then thought of her empty flat. Anton would be at the restaurant for hours yet; he rarely got in before one a.m. Jill Allsop had been and gone, and the two hunky guys from downstairs had disappeared too. Verity was leaning on the bar, talking with two women and a guy who were dressed as if heading for a nightclub. Leticia was pretty sure they were nothing to do with the probation service, but they seemed happy enough to guzzle Verity’s cava.
Leticia rejoined the group, thinking perhaps she should rescue her boss. The first thing she did was dissuade her from ordering another bottle. ‘Actually, Verity…’ Leticia said, gently tugging back her arm, which was waving a credit card towards the barman.
‘What?’ She eyed her subordinate quizzically.
‘I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?’ Leticia said.
‘No, s’all right,’ Verity slurred. ‘I can afford it now. I’ve come into some money. And I need a drink.’
‘Actually, Verity, it’s been a lovely evening, but it might be a good idea to think about heading home.’ She could immediately feel the chill of disappointment among Verity’s fair-weather friends. ‘Are you getting a taxi?’
‘I’ve got my car.’ She pointed vaguely in the direction of Swan House.
‘You can’t possibly drive in this state. I’ll ring for a cab. Where’s your gift?’ Leticia recalled that Jill had secretly bought Verity a beautiful Italian soft leather briefcase on behalf of the department, and had presented it just before she left the office.
Verity looked puzzled for a minute, then said: ‘In the boot.’
‘If you give me the keys I’ll go and get it for you,’ Leticia said. She smiled icily at Verity’s new friends, who were reluctantly draining their drinks and getting ready to leave.
Keys now in hand, Leticia walked back to Swan House and found Verity’s Nissan in the car park. She clicked the fob, and the lights flashed orange. She flipped open the boot and saw the new briefcase still partially in its silvery wrapping paper.
As she lifted it up, she felt it snag. Something was stuck to the trailing sticky tape on the parcel. She peered underneath, and gasped. A slender object was caught in the recessed catch for the boot. She recognised it immediately, but could not imagine how on earth it came to be there. If she was right about what it was, it would change everything that had happened since Tuesday.
Absolutely everything.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Leticia set down the parcel and tore off a strip of the silvery wrapping, then carefully untangled the tiny metal hinge of the broken spectacle arm from the threads of the boot liner. She held up the slender red plastic for a closer look. Yes, it looked just like his. She wrapped it carefully and put it in her pocket.
The young probation officer was in a quandary as she walked back to the bar. Verity wouldn’t have had any official contact with Neville Rollason, and there could be no good reason for part of his glasses to be in the boot of her car. She simply couldn’t think of an innocent explanation; but neither could she imagine that her boss would have had anything to do with his abduction and murder. Who should she turn to?
Pushing open the door of the bar, she saw that Verity was slumped at a table, her head resting on her arms. A female member of the bar staff stood over her, trying to wake her. Leticia sensed that her boss would hardly be able to talk, let alone give a good answer to the questions she desperately wanted to ask. Leticia told the staff member she would take care of Verity. ‘I’ve rung for a taxi, it should be here soon,’ she said. Verity’s head nodded but no sound came.
Leticia herself had drunk three glasses of wine, but seeing Verity sobered her up quickly. She had a more immediate problem than what to do about the spectacle frame: Verity herself. Part of her just wanted to be shot of the woman – to bundle Verity into a taxi and get her own cab home. They would probably never see each other again.
When the taxi came, she and the Sikh driver eased Verity in. Looking at her, helplessly drunk, Leticia realised she couldn’t just abandon her like this. She sighed, then got in the back seat with her, the new leather briefcase between them. Verity gave an address in Walton-on-Thames. During the journey Leticia tried to keep her talking and stop her falling asleep.
From out of the blue Verity said: ‘Stop the car. I’m going to puke.’
The taxi was on a dual carriageway and stopping immediately wasn’t easy. Leticia groped in her shoulder bag for a plastic carrier that she knew was in there somewhere, but she was too late. Verity had grasped the briefcase, opened the clasp and vomited profusely into her new gift.
Soon afterwards the taxi, driver muttering, all the windows wound down and joss sticks burning in the front, turned at speed into a tidy tree-lined street in Walton. They pulled up outside a neat stuccoed terrace.
‘Come in for coffee?’ Verity rasped to Leticia.
‘No thanks. I’d better be getting home,’ Leticia said immediately. She’d done her duty; that was more than enough. ‘Don’t forget this.’ She gingerly passed across Verity’s now weighty briefcase.
‘Oh God,’ Verity slurred. She fumbled in her pocket for her purse and waved three crumpled twenties. ‘To getcha home. Sorry about everything.’
* * *
By the time she got home, Leticia had convinced herself that she must be mistaken about the spectacle frame. She opened up the package of wrapping paper on the coffee table and stared at it. The plastic was intact, though a little bent. The arm had been broken off at the little hinge, which was fractured. It needed a new screw, too. Normally she wouldn’t wait up for Anton but tonight she really wanted the benefits of his wisdom and perspective. It had only been a few days since she had disclosed to him that Neville Rollason had been her client. Anton had been shocked but supportive of her. ‘That’s a mighty big job you had to do,’ he had said.
It was a quarter past one when he finally walked in, looking exhausted. Leticia, now sobered by black coffee, said she had something she needed to ask him. First she described her meetings with Rollason and then what had happened that evening. The tale of the briefcase full of vomit had him holding his sides with laughter. ‘Oh man, that is so bad. So bad.’
When she finally pointed out to him the small red plastic object he said, ‘Letty, baby, they could be anybody’s. It’s not proof.’
‘Yeah but those little yellow shields with the black horse on, it’s quite distinctive.’
Using the paper, Anton picked up the frame and looked closely at it. ‘That’s the Ferrari symbol. There’s millions of them out there.’
‘Oh. So maybe I am wrong.’
Anton set down the frame, took both of Leticia’s hands and looked into her face. ‘I’ve heard you describe your boss as a bitch, but do you believe she is capable of murder? She’s skinny, right? Could she lift a body to dispose of it?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so, not easily. But Rollason was quite small. Maybe s
he had help. Look, I just don’t know what to do.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you something for nothing. Assume you’re right. If the cops get to know we have Rollason’s specs here in our flat they are going to think you and me killed him. Ain’t no evidence now they were ever in your boss’s boot.’
‘I think you’re being a bit paranoid.’
‘Really? Go up to that mirror, have a good look and tell me what colour face you see.’
‘Colour is not everything.’
‘When shit gets bad, it is, I’m telling you. Especially where cops are concerned. How many times have I been stopped in that car? Think on that.’
‘So what should I do? I thought about showing it to Jill Allsop. She’s full of good sense.’
Anton shrugged. ‘Or you could post it anonymously to the cops, say where you found it.’
‘But if I’m wrong that would just drop Verity in it. She’s starting a new job in a week’s time.’
He shook his head in amazement. ‘You’re overthinking everything, Letty. You can’t be nice to everybody. What about that guy from Special Branch you work with? You could just leave it in his in-tray. Make it his problem.’
Leticia sighed and put her hands over her face. ‘That would just get back to me.’
‘Well then maybe you should just throw it away.’
‘Anton! That’s destroying evidence.’
He stood up, clenching his fists in exasperation. ‘Look, baby. It’s a high-profile case. They will get the murderer eventually. I don’t care what you do, but don’t leave it here. The cops have a habit of turning up uninvited.’
* * *
Leticia awoke just after six the next morning. She hadn’t slept well. The spectacle arm had been hidden under the cutlery tray in the kitchen, but she had kept dreaming that the police arrived and found it. She had lain awake after each dream, pondering where would be a better place for it, but failed to come to any conclusion. Meanwhile Anton had slept soundly beside her, provoking in her a little nugget of resentment.
