The Headhunters

by Peter Lovesey

  ‘I haven’t heard of nude bathing down here.’

  ‘These things go on, Stell.’

  ‘In Selsey?’

  ‘All along the coast. There’s an entire beach in Brighton that is set aside for the birthday suit brigade. I once walked by out of curiosity. Didn’t exactly inflame me. And then there’s art.’

  ‘There’s what?’

  ‘Photography in the main, celebrating the naked form, usually female. Page three girls. Not just the Sun. Lads’ mags. Even posh Sunday colour magazines pay big bucks for that kind of stuff. Beaches are favoured locations. Not that your average girl-fancier wastes much time looking at the background.’

  ‘And they call it art!’

  ‘I hope I haven’t got a Philistine on my team. This is commercial art. Cash for the models, fees for the photographers, and sales for the newsagents.’

  ‘Do you think our victim was a model, then?’

  ‘Actually, no. At thirty plus, she was a bit old for that. Unless it was amateur photography. The local camera club.’

  ‘A Women’s Institute calendar. What was that film?’ Stella asked, playing to Hen’s improving mood.

  ‘It had a thousand imitations. The world’s moved on.’

  ‘But has this place?’

  ‘Going by Bognor, where I live, probably not. But I haven’t heard Selsey is planning anything quite so risqué. Someone would have told us, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Are they telling us anything?’

  ‘You can’t get up to frolics like that without half the village knowing about it.’

  ‘We don’t know half the village.’

  ‘Which is why house-to-house has its attractions,’ Hen said. ‘You walked into that.’

  Behind them, a phone went. One of the computer operators inside the van would take it.

  ‘What we need is someone out here under an awning,’ Hen said. ‘Know what I mean? A canvas thing with coloured stripes. We’re on a beach, for God’s sake. Let’s meet the public as they walk by.’

  She was called to the phone.

  Stella waited, hoping whoever it was would put the awning out of the boss’s mind. Outside was no place to be when the wind got up.

  ‘Breakthrough,’ Hen said, stepping out again, elated. ‘A witness has surfaced. Says he was on the beach on the day she was found. He was exercising his dog. This is the guy with the poodle.’

  TWENTY PAST two and Jake was late. They were supposed to meet on the path opposite the lifeboat station, and it wasn’t the best of choices. The sharp east wind coming off the sea was getting through Jo’s padded jacket and chilling her. Unusually for her, she was shivering. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand here.

  She should have asked for his mobile number. She assumed he carried a phone. He’d need one in his line of work, just to keep in touch with colleagues. She wasn’t sure what nature conservancy entailed, except that labelling shingle plants was part of it. A man out on the reserve would need to stay in contact.

  The arrangement had been clear, she thought. Friday at two. If something had gone wrong he could have called the garden centre and left a message for her. She’d just checked and she had no voicemail. He wouldn’t have reached her at home because he didn’t know her number, or even where she lived. This early in a friendship you don’t exchange addresses.

  Plenty of things might have delayed him, and she kept playing them through her mind. She didn’t wish to face the other possibility: that he’d stood her up. It was hard to know how any man’s mind worked, and Jake’s shyness was an extra barrier. So for the moment she preferred to think something had gone wrong at home, a burst pipe or a gas leak. He’d get the problem fixed as soon as possible and come hurrying to meet her.

  If she was wrong and a domestic emergency wasn’t the reason, she supposed he could have made a mistake about the time. Or even the day. Forgetfulness would be preferable to rejection.

  Clutching at her arms, trying to rub warmth into them, she looked again along the path in each direction. Few scenes are so bleak as the seaside on a grey autumn day. To the east, where the wind was coming from, she could see the black trailer the police had parked opposite the place where she’d found the body. It just depressed her more.

  He’d said he lived in Selsey but she had no idea which part. No one else was in sight. The only life in view was the gulls gliding on the stiff wind, and they were pretty inactive, not needing to move their wings. This was looking like a lost cause.

  I hate this place, she thought. Once it was all right, but now it’s linked with that poor woman’s death and the hard time I was given by those detectives. If I’m honest with myself I’m only here for the chance to spend time with Jake. I don’t really have to put myself through this.

  She looked at her watch again. Maybe the poor guy was ill, too far gone to make contact. That would be dreadful, but was it realistic? People his age didn’t get ill very often, not ill enough to be stuck indoors. If she stayed here much longer she’d be the one who was ill. Soon she’d have to admit he wasn’t going to appear and hadn’t bothered to let her know.

  Ten more minutes, then.

  Those minutes passed and he didn’t come.

  ON SATURDAY in Starbucks Gemma was even more hyper than usual. ‘You’re a crafty minx, putting those wicked ideas in my head. I’ve done the dirty now. There’s no going back. The ordure hits the air conditioning next week, about Tuesday morning, I reckon.’

  ‘You went through with it?’

  ‘Calm down. You look like the bird that went for a worm and pecked through the electric cable. This was your suggestion, remember. Yesterday she left about three-thirty and so did he.’

  ‘Together?’

  ‘Take a wild guess. So it gave me the chance to get into her computer. To be honest, I was in two minds even then, but I didn’t know the half of it. You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff he’s syphoned off to her in the last week. I went mental when I saw it all on screen. These aren’t jumble sale posters, Jo, they’re major projects, colour magazines, and Christmas catalogues for some of our top clients. Work I’ve always handled.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Just like you said, I bumped up one of the orders from five thou to five hundred thou.’

  ‘Good. Which one?’

  ‘A council booklet about waste disposal.’

  Jo raised a clenched fist. ‘I like it. She’ll be waste herself when this gets found out.’

  Gemma rolled her eyes upwards. ‘I’m not so comfortable with it now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Basically, I’m a coward. I’m hoping the printer queries it with Mr Cartwright.’

  ‘That’s no use,’ Jo said. ‘The business has to suffer, or she’ll walk all over you and so will he. You want half a million useless booklets stacked up for everyone to see.’

  Gemma whistled. ‘Half a million? Is that how much it comes to?’

  ‘Five hundred thou, you said.’

  ‘I’m wetting my pants over this.’

  ‘Believe me, if it doesn’t hurt him where it matters, in his pocket, your Mr Cartwright is going to forgive and forget and Fiona will be sitting at your desk before the end of the year. Be strong, Gem.’

  Gemma’s way of being strong was to bite her lip and flap her hand in front of her face, and Jo felt her own confidence falter, in spite of all she’d said. She’d set this up and people’s careers were at risk. Someone was going to suffer, whatever the justification for the thing.

  Jo changed the subject. ‘How are you and Rick getting on? Have you been out with him again?’

  ‘A couple of times,’ Gemma said. ‘The lad is shaping up. We’ve got the same taste in films, which is good. But we haven’t had sex yet, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘D’you mind? I wouldn’t be so nosy.’

  ‘Did you sleep with him when you two were going out?’

  Jo smiled. ‘I see. It’s all right to ask me. As a matter
of fact, I didn’t. Things got a bit physical, if you get me, but I wasn’t ready for the main course.’

  ‘I bet he was.’

  ‘Possibly, but it takes two.’

  ‘He behaved like a gent, then? Adjusted his dress and wished you a polite good evening?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I don’t plan on telling him about my war with Fiona,’ Gemma said. ‘That’s between you and me, right?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I know I can trust you not to blurt it out. Can’t count on Rick keeping it to himself. Know what I mean?’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘I’ve nothing against him. He’s fun to be with, but I’ve got to keep this schtum. I mean, it doesn’t reflect very well on me. I don’t mind you knowing because it was all your idea.’

  ‘As you keep reminding me.’

  ‘That’s me accounted for, then,’ Gemma said. ‘How about you and old motormouth? Are you two an item yet?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Jo felt the colour rise. ‘Where did you get that idea?’

  ‘Come on, babe, it’s obvious you fancy him something wicked. Look at you now, a poinsettia in full bloom.’

  ‘You’re so wrong.’

  ‘Don’t mind me. Just because I call him names it doesn’t mean a thing. I’m always slagging off blokes. It’s a sport. You’ve got to make the first move, you know. He’s chronically shy. If you wait for him to ask, you’ll still be waiting when you get your bus pass. Fix a time and place and tell him to be there.’

  Jo didn’t enlighten her about Selsey. ‘He isn’t interested.’

  ‘Bet he is. Want me to find out?’

  ‘No,’ Jo said sharply. ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Look at the state you’re in. Simmer down, babe. You’ve got it bad, haven’t you? All right, do it your way. I won’t interfere.’

  ‘You’ve got this all wrong.’

  ‘I’m sure. Be funny, wouldn’t it, if we swapped blokes?’

  ‘Oh, hilarious,’ Jo said.

  BACK AT home the light was winking on the answerphone. She pressed it before taking off her coat. The voice was not Jake’s. It was female. And familiar.

  ‘Miss Stevens? Hen Mallin—DCI Mallin. We spoke the other day. Give me a call directly you get back, would you?’ She gave the number.

  What did they want now? Jo hung up her coat and looked at the mail. Junk, all of it. Nothing with a local postmark.

  She went back to the phone.

  ‘Thank you for calling in, my dear,’ Hen Mallin said, all sweetness and light now. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask. When you told us about finding the body at Selsey you mentioned seeing a couple of men.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘The one in the tracksuit and the one with the dog. What I’d like is for you to see if you can recognise the jogger.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Pick him out from a line-up. An identification parade.’

  Jo gasped and her mouth went dry. ‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see him well enough for that.’

  ‘When you get a proper look at him again, you might find it refreshes your memory. No pressure. It’s all done through one-way glass and you get a cup of tea if you want.’

  ‘But the people I saw just happened to be out for a walk that morning like me. They weren’t acting suspiciously or anything.’

  ‘Understood. They’re probably innocent, but we do need to eliminate them from our enquiry, and only you can help. I’ll send a car. It will take a couple of hours to set this up. We’ll pick you up about four-thirty.’

  How could she refuse? She wished she’d left that beach without reporting what she’d found. You just don’t know what it will lead to when you help the police.

  SHE WAS still trying to think of a get-out when the police car drew up outside the flat. She hated the idea of fingering someone who might be innocent.

  They’d sent a chatty policewoman to fetch her. She was worse than some taxidrivers, on about the government and public sector pay rates and the price of housing and the problems of immigration. When Jo stepped out of the car in the police station yard she scattered umpteen shreds of paper tissue on the ground. She hadn’t noticed herself doing it.

  Hen Mallin greeted her like an old friend and took her upstairs. ‘I won’t be at your side, I’m afraid,’ she said, as if that would disappoint. ‘The rules require that you’re taken in by an identification officer who isn’t on the investigation.’

  ‘I’ve given this a lot of thought—’ Jo started to say.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ Hen said. ‘Relax. You’ll know at once if you recognise the guy. The eyes have it, as they say—much better than trying to remember.’

  ‘I don’t want to do it.’

  ‘No one ever does. Look at it this way. It’s better than a visit to the mortuary. We’re not asking you to identify the corpse.’

  There seemed to be no option. Hen introduced her to Sergeant Malcolm, a young man looking more anxious than Jo was. ‘My first time,’ he said.

  ‘Mine, too.’

  ‘There’s a gentleman in there already. He’s a solicitor. It’s important this is done properly or he’ll be down on me like the proverbial ton of bricks. The parade is also being videoed. When we go in you’ll be shown nine men, including the suspect.’

  ‘Suspect?’ Jo said. ‘Have you arrested someone?’

  ‘That’s the whole point of this.’

  ‘Then I don’t want to do it. Definitely.’

  ‘You can’t back out now,’ Sergeant Malcolm said in alarm. ‘All these people have given up their time. The solicitor came in specially. It isn’t scary at all, not for you. They can’t see you.’

  ‘What if I don’t recognise any of them?’

  ‘Not your problem. You’ll help me, won’t you, miss?’

  ‘If I must.’

  ‘Each of them has a number. When you identify anyone, you just say the number. But please take a really good look at each of them. Walk along the line twice, at least, and take as much time as you want. Ready?’ He opened a door.

  It was almost dark in there. She was aware of a man in a suit standing at the opposite end, and someone with a camera. Then some lights came on and the area to her right was revealed through glass.

  Her stomach lurched. She was facing a row of nine men, and the third one in was Jake.

  five

  HER EYES MISTED OVER. She blinked several times. She wasn’t mistaken.

  ‘You’re supposed to walk the line, miss,’ Sergeant Malcolm said.

  Confused emotions bombarded her. Jake looked dreadful, as if he hadn’t slept for two days. He seemed to be dressed to make him an object of ridicule, in a skimpy grey fleece zipped to his throat and black tracksuit trousers that didn’t even reach to his socks. She wanted to speak to him, but they were divided by soundproof one-way glass.

  ‘Take a good look at each one.’

  Her impulse was to tell the sergeant they’d made a dreadful mistake and Jake shouldn’t be there. He was a good man, not a murderer. He cared about the living world and the ecology. No way would he take another person’s life.

  Better judgement ruled. She stayed silent and tried to make a cool assessment. Innocent men were brought in off the streets to make up the number on these parades. The police dressed them to match a witness’s description. Now that she took a wider view this entire line-up had ill-fitting tops and tracksuit trousers like Jake’s and she remembered giving DCI Mallin a description of the man she’d passed that day at Selsey. Well, one thing was certain: that guy wasn’t Jake. Only through coincidence had Jake been brought in. Probably he’d come into town for the afternoon and some policeman had picked him at random and asked him to take part.

  Convincing?

  Not really, she thought. I can see the strain in his face. He’s their suspect and the rest are there because they faintly resemble him. Tall, dark men, not one of them anything like the man she remembered seeing.

  ‘Ma
ke a start, miss.’

  Her anger mixed with fear as she forced herself to glance at the first man. A white card with the number one was on the floor in front of him. She’d never seen him before. He looked faintly bored. So did number two.

  She took a deep breath and moved on. It was painful looking at Jake. His eyes were red-lidded and dark all round. Stress lines at the side of his mouth made him seem twice his age.

  She stepped past him, trying to appear unaffected. All the others seemed untroubled, indifferent to this whole procedure. No one was stressed and exhausted like Jake.

  ‘Take your time. No need to hurry.’

  Her thoughts still in turmoil, she started walking back.

  ‘You’re not facing them, miss. You’re supposed to look at them all at least twice.’

  She didn’t trust herself to speak. Her throat ached. To satisfy the rules she paused in front of each man and gave another glance. Except for Jake. She couldn’t bear to look into his face again, so she fixed her eyes at the level of his chest. When she reached the end of the line she faced Sergeant Malcolm and shook her head. It was the truth. She hadn’t seen any of them at Selsey.

  ‘For the record, would you mind saying if you recognised one of these men?’

  The way he put the question sounded like a trap. If they could choose their words, then so could she. And still speak the truth. ‘I saw two men at the beach and they aren’t here.’

  ‘Are you quite sure, miss?’

  She nodded.

  He glanced at the solicitor, who shrugged and spread his hands.

  ‘Would you like to walk the line one more time?’

  She shook her head.

  DS Malcolm held open the door and she came out. He offered tea. She needed something to calm her jangled nerves. On the way down to the canteen he said, ‘It’s not too late to say if you spotted one of them. You can tell me now and I’ll inform the solicitor.’

  To emphasise the truth of what she was saying, she stopped on the stairs, looked straight at him and spaced her words. ‘They were not the men I saw at the beach.’

  ‘I thought you reacted to one of them.’

  This time she couldn’t be as truthful. She turned away and moved on again. ‘It was the situation. I wasn’t comfortable being so close and having them stare straight through me.’