The Headhunters

by Peter Lovesey

  ‘Don’t you know for certain?’

  ‘I haven’t had time to check with the inspector who led the search. I’ve just come from the post mortem.’

  ‘You’re obviously under a lot of pressure.’

  Dangerous to concede. ‘But on top of the job.’

  ‘I would say it’s pretty obvious something was wrong with the search because the body was in that pool for up to five days.’

  ‘Two to five, yes.’

  ‘If the team had done its job, the hunt for Cartwright might be over by now.’

  ‘Conceivably.’

  ‘Somebody goofed, Chief Inspector. I wouldn’t go out of my way to cover for them if I were you. Being an effective leader matters more than loyalty to a colleague.’

  From deep in her subconscious she dredged up an old saying. ‘But if you can’t ride two horses at once, you shouldn’t be in the circus.’

  It stopped him in his tracks.

  He took a few seconds to think about it before saying, ‘Another thing: you’re still holding this man, Kernow. Why?’

  ‘He’s been under strong suspicion for some time. He knew the first victim, Meredith Sentinel, and met her in London. And we’ve established that he visited the print works and spoke to victim number two, Fiona Halliday. What is more, he served two years for GBH.’

  ‘I know all that, but if Cartwright is your man—as everything seems to suggest—Kernow can reasonably claim wrongful detention. I’m not his solicitor, but if I were, I know what I’d be doing.’

  How could she explain the feeling in her bones that Cartwright was not the killer, even in the face of all the evidence?

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind, sir.’

  ‘This has become a high profile investigation. I can bring in some big hitters from another division.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘It may be necessary.’

  ‘It isn’t, and I don’t expect it to become so,’ Hen said with all the authority she could muster.

  After cradling the phone she went outside the building. Some people keep going on caffeine. She knew what her fix was.

  By standing with her back in the open doorway she had some protection from the rain. How the anti-smoking brigade would view this, she didn’t like to think. Some of the fumes would certainly drift over her shoulder into the building, try as she did to blow them across the car park.

  She’d been there about a minute when she was aware of someone standing behind her. She edged to one side and said, ‘There’s room.’

  They didn’t squeeze by, so she turned and saw it was Stella, looking uncomfortable, as well she might.

  ‘Come to clear the air, have you?’ Hen said. ‘You’ll have a job.’

  ‘They’re saying upstairs that you took some flak from headquarters because of me,’ Stella said. She continued to stand inside at a safe distance.

  ‘A little.’ Hen was forced to turned her head to exhale.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You know what it’s about?’

  ‘Paddy phoned me at home last night. I didn’t get much sleep.’

  ‘What amazes me, Stell, is that I can generally bank on you to carry out a search. It was so bloody obvious, that pool with the ghastly blue cover. I don’t know how you missed it.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she said.

  ‘Even those two wretched women. . . . What did you just say?’

  ‘I looked in the pool. I had Sergeant Malcolm from uniform lift the cover at both ends. We didn’t take it off completely because I could see it would be a major operation putting it back. Stupid. Everything was so tidy in the house that I got into a mindset of leaving the place as we found it.’

  ‘Go over it again.’

  ‘We switched on the lights and I knelt down and looked under the cover and couldn’t see anything. The sergeant did the same. Don’t ask me how, but we must have missed the body.’

  ‘You were sure the pool was empty?’

  ‘I really thought so.’

  ‘And you had lights on? Could you see to the other end?’

  ‘I thought so at the time. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘And when it was over, you put it all back in place?’

  ‘Tried to. It’s quite technical. Sergeant Malcolm said you need an Allen key to adjust the bolt things that hold the springs in place. We had to leave some of them undone.’

  She recalled Gemma Casey saying one end had not been fixed properly. Stella wasn’t making this up. ‘If the body was lying on the bottom would you have missed it?’

  ‘I can’t understand how, with the lights on as well.’

  ‘How deep is it?’

  ‘Not much over two metres. The water was clear.’

  ‘I saw.’ Hen puffed on her skinny cigar. ‘I thought you must have failed to notice the pool. You failed to notice the body.’

  ‘That’s worse,’ Stella said.

  ‘I wasn’t going to say it, but you’re right.’

  ‘DON’T KNOW about you,’ Gemma said to Jo as they drove away from Apuldram, ‘but I don’t feel like going back to work after that.’

  ‘Starbucks?’

  ‘Great suggestion.’

  ‘Some people call them pigs,’ Jo said.

  ‘The police, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve always thought it was unfair. Until today. That’s what they are—pigs. They’re disgusting. We do the public-spirited thing and report what we found in the pool, proving Cartwright must be the killer and what do we get in return? The third degree. Anyone would think we were murderers.’

  ‘And they’re still holding Jake.’

  ‘It breaks me up, Gem. It’s sadistic.’

  THEY EACH had a black espresso and an almond croissant, to restore the blood sugar, as Gemma put it.

  Jo hadn’t finished her diatribe against the police. ‘It was insulting. The Hen woman was questioning me about my background, how long I’ve lived here, all kinds of stuff you only ask of criminals.’

  ‘We did break into a house, matey.’

  ‘Not to steal.’

  ‘We were in the wrong, Jo. She gave me a going-over, too. It wasn’t about us actually. It was about her annoyance that we discovered something she missed.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Good thing she doesn’t know the whole truth.’

  Jo frowned. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Us being the first to find Fiona’s body.’

  ‘Christ Almighty, yes. Keep your voice down, Gem.’

  ‘In fact, you found all three bodies.’

  Jo blinked and gasped. ‘That’s true.’

  Gemma gave her conspiratorial grin. ‘And we associate with a man who confessed to murdering a fourth.’

  ‘Rick.’ Jo’s throat was dry. ‘But we don’t believe him, do we?’

  ‘I think we’ll find out soon. Mallin knows about him. She calls us a clique and she warned me not to cover up for my friends. I don’t think she meant you.’

  ‘She meant Jake.’

  ‘I doubt it. I think she’ll soon be knocking on Rick’s door.’

  ‘You’re making me nervous,’ Jo said. ‘This was supposed to calm us down. I don’t like to think what Rick might say under questioning.’

  ‘He’s rock solid. Don’t worry.’

  twenty-two

  HEN DIDN’T BOTHER MUCH with snail mail. Everything that mattered reached her by phone, email, or internal memo. The few letters with her name on them got dropped into a tray on her desk and could stay unopened through the day. Most were junk. A few were from attention-seekers who’d seen her on television or in the press. Rarely anything worth troubling over.

  So it wasn’t unusual that a typed envelope with a London postmark didn’t get opened until mid-afternoon.

  It wasn’t even a proper letter.

  She almost tossed it aside without reading it.

  The sender had scribbled a few words on a Post-it attached to a white invitation card. ‘Found this among Merry�
�s papers,’ was all Austen Sentinel had written before adding his initials.

  The wording couldn’t have made more impact if it had grabbed Hen by the throat. Embossed lettering on fine, cream-coloured board.

  In September, 1987, the skeleton of a mammoth was uncovered on Selsey’s East Beach and excavated by a team from Brighton University, assisted by volunteers. To mark the twentieth anniversary of this notable event you are invited to a reunion barbecue on the section of beach where the dig took place.

  Saturday 15 September, 8.30 p.m. Free food, drink, and eighties music.

  No reply necessary. To have fun with old friends just turn up . . . like the mammoth did.

  She now knew why Meredith Sentinel had returned to Selsey for the first time in twenty years.

  Heart racing, she snatched up her phone and dialled Sentinel’s number. He answered at once.

  ‘Hen Mallin, Chichester CID,’ she said. ‘Just read your note. Quite a discovery.’

  ‘Yes, it answers one question and begs some others,’ he said as if he were talking about an essay topic instead of the invitation that had led to his wife’s death. ‘I thought you should see it for yourself.’

  ‘You found it among her papers?’

  ‘A few items I’d overlooked when I went through her belongings last week. She sometimes put letters and such things in a glass cabinet where we keep the silverware. It served as her PENDING tray. After she’d dealt with them she threw them out.’

  ‘Was the invitation in an envelope?’

  ‘Not when I found it. She got rid of envelopes.’

  ‘You’re certain of that?’

  ‘Didn’t I just explain? I don’t understand why it matters.’

  ‘Because I need to know who was behind this invitation. It may be crucial to find out. We can get DNA from an envelope. We might get some from the card itself, but the envelope would be better. And the postmark would be useful. There’s no return address or name on the card.’

  ‘I noticed that. No RSVP. Unusual.’

  ‘You’re telling me there’s no chance at all of finding the envelope? Not even with a special search?’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you. My wife was well organised. She didn’t keep wrappers of any kind. And she made a point of using the shredder.’ The voice sounded smug, as if he enjoyed frustrating the investigation.

  Hen let it pass. There was more to prise out from this obnoxious man. ‘How would they have traced her? She’d have been known by her maiden name in 1987.’

  ‘Through the university, I expect. They have an alumni association. Their magazine publishes news of former students and there are always reunions being organised.’

  ‘She was in her first year when it took place, you said?’

  ‘A fresher, yes.’

  ‘How many other people would have received one of these invites?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  She felt a surge of fury. ‘You were in charge, for God’s sake. You’d know how many were involved in the dig.’

  ‘Can’t be precise. Anything from twenty to forty.’

  ‘I’m going to need their names and addresses.’

  ‘Don’t ask me. I couldn’t even begin to remember. I told you before, they were just willing hands as far as I was concerned.’ His attitude was breathtaking.

  ‘Where could I find a list?’

  ‘God knows, all these years later. I don’t suppose one exists.’

  She was trying to suppress her annoyance and not succeeding. ‘You told me you published some illustrated articles about the dig. Get them out, please, look at them and see if you recognise anyone in the photos. Where can I get copies for myself?’

  ‘The university library ought to have them.’

  ‘Thanks. You must have had one of these invitations yourself.’

  ‘I don’t recall one.’

  ‘Come on, Dr Sentinel. You led the dig. It would have been Hamlet without the Prince.’

  ‘Ha. That’s a point.’ He seemed to enjoy that. ‘But the Prince was missing. I don’t need to remind you I was in St Petersburg at the time.’

  ‘Or Helsinki.’

  ‘Er, yes.’ Not quite so bumptious.

  Hen played to his vanity. ‘It seems odd for anyone to have organised a reunion without consulting you first about the arrangements.’

  ‘Going by the wording on the invitation, I’m not surprised. It was my dig, my show, but they don’t mention me by name. I get the impression this was an undergraduates-only event.’

  ‘They’re not undergraduates any more. They’ll be forty-year-olds with their own careers.’

  ‘You don’t understand, do you? I was in the senior common room in nineteen-eighty-seven.’

  Hen couldn’t see how that made a blind bit of difference. ‘Something else you can do for me immediately after you put down the phone, Dr Sentinel. Look through your own correspondence and see if you can find the invitation to you, preferably still in the envelope. Handle it as little as possible. Get back to me at once and we’ll arrange to pick it up.’

  Immediately after the call she announced the breakthrough to the team. Spirits had not been high since the blunder over the body in the pool and it was a huge relief to have a new lead. There was spontaneous applause.

  ‘The priority now is to get hold of some more of these invitations,’ Hen told them. ‘There could be as many as forty in circulation. Some will have been thrown out by now, but some people keep such things as souvenirs. What I’d dearly like to find is one in its original envelope that we can get forensically tested.’

  ‘So we discover who was behind it?’ Paddy Murphy said.

  ‘That would be a start.’

  Hen explained about the alumni association and said she would speak to them herself. She asked Gary to check with Brighton University library for articles and references to the mammoth excavation. ‘Don’t get bogged down with the technicalities. It’s the people who interest us.’

  Stella said, ‘If I remember, Dr Sentinel said the dig was before the start of term, so he was recruiting anyone he could get hold of, including locals.’

  ‘Good point. We can go on local radio tonight and ask for help. The listeners are good at responding to that sort of appeal. Would you take care of that?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Hen knew it would be done well. ‘One other thing, Stell. When we were searching the beach at Selsey, do you recall seeing signs of a recent barbecue? Blackened stones, ash, bits of tinfoil lying about?’

  ‘Can’t say I do, guv.’

  ‘Must have been another section.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘They told us where it was. Paddy, find out the exact place where the mammoth was found.’

  The alumni association proved to be the ideal means of contacting ex-students. Once Hen had explained to the secretary who she was and why she needed the information, she was supplied with contact numbers for seventeen archaeologists from the late 1980s.

  ‘Great. We’ll have some witnesses soon,’ she announced to the team.

  In the next hour the incident room resembled a call centre as attempts were made to reach former students. A thumb would be raised in the air each time contact was made.

  But the initial response was disappointing. Most remembered the mammoth dig, but hadn’t taken part because it was all over before they arrived for the new term. The third woman Hen managed to contact was more helpful. Like the others she’d missed the dig, but she recalled the name of a friend who took part. Although they hadn’t seen each other in years, she had a phone number.

  Hen raised both thumbs.

  The woman was home and confirmed that she’d joined in the dig. Her name was Brenda Sutton and she sounded intelligent and keen to help. ‘Yes, I remember the whole thing. It was fascinating. I was so lucky to be part of it because I was reading English, not archaeology. I just happened to be up at the uni early looking for a flat, which—with more good luck—I found on the first day. Dr Sentinel was in the refect
ory asking for volunteers and I jumped at the chance. There must have been twenty of us being bussed out to Selsey each morning.’

  ‘Do you remember an American fresher called Merry or Meredith?’

  ‘Not by name, but yes, there was an American girl with a marked Southern drawl. I was with a couple of friends and we tended to stay together, so I don’t recall the other people’s names.’

  Even so, this was real progress: someone who had been there in 1987. ‘And did you go to the reunion in September?’

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice rising in surprise. ‘Was there one?’

  Hen’s hopes plunged again. ‘For the twentieth anniversary. A barbecue.’

  ‘I missed that, I’m afraid. Pity.’

  ‘Invitations were sent out.’

  ‘I’ve moved recently. Perhaps mine got returned to the sender.’

  ‘You spoke of a couple of friends on the dig. Have you kept up with them?’

  ‘Noreen Chick and Peter Schooley. Wait a moment while I get my address book.’

  Across the room, Paddy was waving. He’d traced another of the diggers. In the next half hour a list of Dr Sentinel’s team began to emerge. Fourteen names were scribbled on the display board, most with phone numbers.

  Unfortunately, of the first eight questioned on the phone, not one had come to the barbecue or even received an invitation.

  Paddy spoke for everyone when he commented that it was a real downer. They’d contacted twenty per cent of the original group and drawn a blank.

  ‘We keep trying,’ Hen said.

  She’d had another idea. Jake Kernow was still in a cell downstairs. He’d been questioned in three long sessions about his links to the second victim, Fiona, and little of significance had emerged. The custody clock was ticking. Because murder was a serious arrestable offence he could be held for up to thirty-six hours without charge, but a warrant would be needed after that.

  She had him brought to an interview room. Stella was sitting in this time.

  ‘You can do yourself some good now,’ Hen said to Jake. ‘This isn’t connected with what we talked about before. It’s about Meredith Sentinel, and you freely admit you met her. In fact you texted us and made a voluntary statement when you heard she was the dead woman on the beach. I appreciated that. This is safe territory, Jake.’ To underline the confidence-giving, she was entirely candid with him, telling him all she knew about the barbecue invitation.