‘You’re nicked,’ Hen said through the loudhailer. ‘Cuff him.’
Two of the armed squad threw themselves on the mound, totally covering Jake. They scrabbled among the pebbles to get a grip on both arms. They handcuffed him. Then they dragged him from his hiding place. He was in a blue guernsey and jeans.
He must have buried himself more than an hour ago. He’d obviously found this trough in the pebbles and sat in it and heaped more of them over his legs and body like the seaside game played by children. It was not a bad hiding place. If the dogs hadn’t been used he might not have been found.
The helicopter performed a kind of victory arc. The pilot waved and showed a thumb up. Gary waved back. Mission completed, the Eye in the Sky swung away towards Bognor.
‘Gary, love, the action is down here,’ Hen said. ‘Give him the caution and let’s all get back to somewhere warm.’
But instead of resigning to the inevitable, Jake took a couple of swift steps towards Hen, dragging his captors with him. He was irate and vocal. ‘Who brought the fucking helicopter here? Was that you? Do you have the slightest idea of the damage it must have done to the wildlife here? Why do you think this is called a reserve? It’s supposed to be a sanctuary for birds and animals and insects. I can’t begin to calculate the destruction and panic you’ve caused to defenceless creatures we spend years trying to protect.’
The words had come freely and with force, he was so incensed. The colour had returned to his face and for a moment his staring eyes shamed Hen and everyone. It was an extraordinary outburst—a revelation of Jake’s commitment. Even the gunmen were upstaged.
Hen didn’t respond. You can’t argue with someone who feels so passionately, and who is right. It had been a destructive act to call in the helicopter, one she would be willing to justify to her superiors, but not present company. He was still the main suspect, a likely murderer, but this had been his moment.
Gary, to his credit, was brave enough to step forward and mouth the words of the official caution. Jake didn’t listen, but the formality was observed.
The armed men led Jake away, still muttering and shaking his head. They passed close to where Jo was standing, but he didn’t appear to see her. Some tears rolled down her face. With her hands cuffed she couldn’t wipe them away.
‘Lucky he didn’t make a run for it,’ Gary said to her.
She couldn’t speak.
SHE WASN’T put in a cell at Chichester, as she expected. They sat her on a chair in a side room with filing cabinets where people kept coming in. They removed the handcuffs and gave her coffee. All the interest was concentrated on Jake now, she guessed. She hoped he would hold up.
After about an hour, Gary appeared with a pen and paper. ‘The boss wants you to make a statement about this morning and then you’re free to go.’
‘That’s all?’
‘She was talking tough on the beach. She’s like that.’
‘What do I have to do?’
‘I’ll help you put it down. It’s got to be a hundred per cent true because it’s evidence. This is the statement form. So we start with your full name.’
HEN WAS at Paddy Murphy’s desk in the incident room. ‘You got the message about Cornwall? The suspect comes originally from a place called Bugle, north of St Austell.’
‘I’m working on it,’ he said, pointing at the computer screen. ‘I had no idea Cornwall is such a dangerous place. Far more drownings than you find in these parts. So much coast, you see. And rough seas. People get taken by freak waves, strong currents, boating accidents. This can’t be done in twenty minutes, guv.’
‘I’m not suggesting it can.’
‘You’re looking over my shoulder.’
‘And the reason is that you could nail this guy for me by finding an earlier incident of drowning, one that got past as misadventure. It won’t be recent. He left Cornwall after his jail sentence, when he was nineteen, so you’re going back twenty years, Okay?’
‘That makes it tougher.’
‘But you rise to a challenge, don’t you?’ She raised her voice for everyone in the room. ‘Isn’t it well known that Paddy rises to a challenge?’
It amused the troops.
Then Paddy said, ‘Speaking of challenges, ma’am . . . ’
‘Yes?’
‘What time is that inquest you’re attending?’
‘Sweet Jesus.’
BACK AT Jo’s flat the phone messages had stacked up. The garden centre couldn’t trace the paperwork for an order she’d taken last week. Her mother was on the warpath, too, reminding her it was Daddy’s birthday and claiming he was practically suicidal because she’d forgotten to call him or even send a card. The least she could do was get onto Interflora and get a bouquet sent round. And Gemma had left a message passing on her bit of news about the police taking an interest in Jake’s visits to the print works.
She called her father first and managed to wish him all the best without having to listen to a tirade from his wife which would have gone on for ages. Far from suicidal, the old boy sounded chirpy. She phoned the wine shop next and ordered a case of Beaujolais for him, delivery that afternoon. He’d prefer that to a bunch of chrysanthemums. Then she sorted out the problem at work.
Finally, she thought about the third message. She’d been so angry with Gemma Monday evening when she’d manoeuvred her way into Jo’s flat after being told plainly that she wasn’t welcome. The business about Mr Cartwright, true or otherwise, had been deeply unsettling. Gemma had come out of it with little credit, looking self-centred and manipulative.
And yet this morning had put all that in a different perspective. Jake—the one reliable friend Jo had—was doubtful if Rick had really killed Cartwright. In his laconic way he’d made the story look paper-thin. It seemed most likely that Rick had been posturing—as usual—and then felt unable to admit the whole thing was invented. Gemma couldn’t really be blamed for believing him. She was trusting and he was very plausible.
It was to Gemma’s credit that she’d phoned Jake to tell him the police were onto him about Fiona. Over this, she’d behaved as a friend should. There’s a responsible side to her, Jo thought, and we’ve had plenty of laughs together. Maybe we’ll get back on speaking terms. Not this morning, though.
Her big concern was Jake. Hiding from the police had been a mistake, however understandable. He’d been incensed by the helicopter and she worried how he would behave under questioning. What’s more, he had a fatalistic streak, and he was quite liable to admit to things he hadn’t done. When they’d talked that evening in the pub, he seemed to have resigned himself to being fitted up and sent back to prison. ‘It’s out of our hands,’ he’d said. And, ‘Crazy things happen to me.’ In that frame of mind he wasn’t going to fight for his freedom.
Somebody had to.
She was uniquely placed to discover the truth. Events had already brought her closer than she’d liked to one of the murders, and thanks to Gemma’s curiosity she’d come pretty close to the other. She knew some of the main suspects. A moment of decision, then.
If no one else was seeking out the killer, she would.
eighteen
HEN’S HECTIC DAY BROUGHT her next to the court building in Chichester. She hadn’t had time to change. She hadn’t even picked up a sandwich before she appeared at the inquest into Meredith Sentinel’s death. So it came as a relief when her favourite coroner rattled through the formalities in under twenty minutes and the inevitable adjournment was declared.
In the corridor outside, she cornered Austen Sentinel before he could slip away and back to London. In court, he’d confirmed in evidence that he’d identified his late wife. Nothing else had been required from him at this stage. In a black pinstripe suit and dark tie, e’d made the right impression, still grieving, yet bearing up bravely. The demeanour became sharply more assertive as soon as he saw who was barring his way. ‘I have a train to catch,’ he said.
Hen became the party hostess determined
to hold on to her guest. ‘No panic. Two or three go to London every hour. I’ll see that you get home all right.’
‘Thanks, but I’m leaving.’ He turned towards the main exit.
‘Not that way,’ she said. ‘There’s a media scrum outside. I’ll show you the back way out.’ She was already steering him towards the side door. In the street she asked, ‘Have you eaten? The pub across the way does a pie and chips to die for.’ Not the best form of words to use to a recently widowed man, but her hunger pangs were extreme.
Even before he turned her down she sensed that he wasn’t a pie and chips man. His fine Italian suit wouldn’t look right in the Globe. ‘Tell you what. The Cloisters Café in the cathedral is five minutes from here. A good class of place. Salads, home-made soups, and local apple juice.’
‘I can get myself something on the train.’
I wouldn’t trust the trolley service,’ she told him. ‘Besides, there are a couple of things I’d like your help on. I’d hate to put you to all the inconvenience of returning tomorrow.’
‘I thought we went over it all before,’ he said.
They went to the Cloisters. Hen made a phone call along the route and by the time they’d gone through the self-service and arrived with their trays at a table by the window, Gary had nipped round from where he’d been waiting in the Globe and was sitting there.
‘You remember DC Pearce from before?’ Hen said in a disrming tone to Dr Sentinel.
‘What’s all this about?’
‘Two of us have to be present when a witness is interviewed. It’s for your protection really.’
‘I didn’t agree to an interview.’
‘But you aren’t refusing? You heard the coroner say it’s crucial that everyone cooperates fully with the police investigation.’
‘Heaven knows I’ve done that.’
‘It’s only clarification at this stage.’
He glared at them both, sat down, and started ripping his croissant to shreds. And he’d looked so amenable when he was giving evidence. ‘Go on, then.’
She’d already decided to hit him early with the big one. ‘Your St Petersburg trip: Did you attend all the lecture sessions?’
Unprepared, he struggled for the right response. ‘One isn’t required to.’
‘The seminars, the visit to the Hermitage, the formal dinners?’
‘I read my paper.’
‘What—for two whole weeks? I get through mine in ten minutes over breakfast.’
He looked like a first class passenger forced to use the third-class toilet. ‘It’s an academic expression. I gave my prepared talk to the conference.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. You were sponsored by the British Council, I think you said.’
The blood pressure was rocketing, bringing a patchy orange look to the designer tan. ‘Does that have any relevance?’
Where did you go on all those days off?’
‘I fail to see what connection any of this has with my wife’s death. This is my professional life you’re questioning.’
Hen was unmoved. ‘Your hotel room wasn’t used most of the time you were booked in.’
That one practically floored him.
Eyes swivelling in panic, he said, ‘This is an intrusion on my personal liberty. Have you been checking up on me?’
‘On your story,’ Hen said as if it was the only reasonable way to go. ‘People tell us things and we make sure the information is reliable. You claimed you were in St Petersburg when your wife met her death and now it seems you may not have been. You can clear this up very easily.’
‘I gave my paper and did what I was asked.’
‘On the first or second day.’
His sigh was more like a rasp. ‘I took some time out from the conference to visit a colleague. That isn’t a matter for the police,so far as I’m aware.’
‘Oh, but it is if you weren’t where you said you were. Did you leave St Petersburg?’
A long pause while he seemed to be deciding if he could tell a downright lie and bluff it out. Apparently not. ‘Yes.’
‘Returning at the end of the three weeks to check out?’
‘You’re treating me like a schoolboy who played truant.’
‘Who was the old colleague, Dr Sentinel?’
‘A Finnish geologist. You wouldn’t even be able to repeat the name if I gave it to you.’
‘Try me.’
‘Dr Outi Koskenniemi.’
‘You’re right.’ Hen handed him a pen and one of her personal cards. ‘On the back, please.’
Shaking his head at this imposition, Sentinel printed the name.
‘Male or female?’ Hen asked, looking at the card he’d returned.
He hesitated before saying, ‘Female.’
Hen lifted an eyebrow.
His shoulders slumped and all the fight went out of him. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘you’ve got the picture now. I was playing away,so to speak, and I’m bloody ashamed it should have happened when Merry was being murdered. One can’t re-run events, unfortunately.’
‘Was this lady at the conference?’
He shook his head. ‘She lives in Helsinki.’
‘Excuse me. My geography isn’t the best.’
‘It’s a short hop by plane.’
‘So you travelled there and stayed with her. You’d better write down the address for me.’
‘I don’t want Outi involved.’
A fine time for gallantry, Hen thought. ‘She’s your alibi. You went missing from the conference at a sensitive time.’
Shaking his head, he added the address.
Hen leaned back in her chair. ‘You and your friend Outi must have planned this when you got the invitation to St Petersburg. Has it happened before?’
‘This was my first visit to Russia.’
‘But not to Helsinki?’ The answer to that was written all over his face. ‘That explains it, then. An affair of the heart. Your marriage to Meredith wasn’t roses all the way, in spite of what you told me last time?’
‘I was in shock when we spoke.’
‘Agreed. And now you can be more frank.’
He felt the knot of his tie as if it was too tight. ‘Merry and I stopped sleeping in the same room a long time ago. We continued to live together because neither of us wanted all the hassle and expense of separation.’
‘Did she know about your Finnish lady?’
‘I expect so. I got to know about some of her male friends. We didn’t discuss them, but the signs were there for me to see.’
Hen recalled him accusing her of appalling bad taste for suggesting Meredith might have met someone else. She let it pass, feeling she was on the brink of a breakthrough here. ‘Was there a man friend down here in Sussex?’
‘Of course.’
‘You knew?’
‘She didn’t come here for the scenery.’
‘Who was he?’
‘It’s obvious.’
‘Not to me.’ Getting a straight answer was a major challenge. ‘I’m asking for his name.’
He shrugged and looked away.
‘Don’t know?’ said Hen, ‘Or won’t tell?’
He was silent.
‘You just said it was obvious who he was.’
‘Obvious that some man existed,’ he said.
‘Isn’t there some way of finding out? A name she let slip? Phone calls? Letters?’
If Dr Sentinel was capable of recalling anyone at all, he was in no frame of mind to be helpful. ‘I wasn’t that inquisitive about her fancy men. “Better not to know,” was my philosophy, or you start making comparisons with yourself and losing confidence.’
Hen was so frustrated that she departed from her script. ‘You couldn’t have missed the man I have in mind. He’s six foot six.’
‘There you are then,’ Sentinel said smoothly. ‘I’m five nine. That would be a blow to my self-esteem.’
She wished she’d kept quiet about Jake. A tactical error. ‘When we spoke
before, you went so far as to suggest that the murderer must be somebody with local knowledge.’
‘Obvious, isn’t it?’ He was recovering some of his poise. And arrogance.
‘Yes—and we’re working on that assumption.’
‘And you have a suspect?’
‘More than one,’ she said, trying to compensate for the gaffe over Jake.
‘Not much of a friend if he murdered her.’
She was trying to keep her cool. ‘You’ll have read in the papers that we linked this case to another murder by drowning. It’s vital that we catch this killer. Any detail about the men she met recently could put us onto him.’
‘You’re not listening, Chief Inspector. I just told you I didn’t wish to know anything about them.’
‘Is there a woman friend Meredith might have confided in?’
‘I doubt it. Most of her friends were male.’
‘Did she keep a diary?’
‘Never had the time. Speaking of which . . . ’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d like to leave now.’
Hen ignored that. She felt certain there was more to be winkled out from this unpromising source. ‘You talked about the time you first visited Selsey, to excavate the mammoth on the beach. Meredith was a Brighton University student who joined the dig, and that’s how you met.’
He sighed and shook his head. ‘Do we really have to go over this?’ He’d taken a near knockout punch, but he was back on his feet and fighting.
‘I’d like to know who else was on that dig.’
‘Ridiculous,’ he said. ‘Twenty years ago and you want names?’
She continued to prompt him. Obnoxious as he was, he could provide the crucial link. ‘You said the work had to be done fast because of the tides, so you recruited everyone you could get.’
‘It was a miracle I found anyone at all. The term hadn’t started, so I had to phone around for students I taught and, frankly, any Tom, Dick, or Harry who was up at the university early, as well as locals in Selsey. But if you think I kept a list of their names, you’re mistaken.’
‘I expect you wrote about the mammoth later for some scientific journal.’
‘At some length. It was a major event for this country and I was a young man with a career to pursue. I’ve lectured on it extensively. Only last June at Brighton in commemoration week I gave the Howard Carter lecture to mark the twentieth year since the dig.’
The Headhunters Page 24
