‘Have you got it there now?’
‘In my hand.
‘Describe him.’
‘Ten years younger than her, I’d say. Blue eyes, hair bleached blond by the look of it and cut in a style of—what shall I say?—more Rod Stewart than David Beckham, if you know what I mean.’
Hen’s heart had doubled its rate, but she was keeping her responses bland, trying not to give too much away to Rick. ‘Thanks, Stell. You did the right thing calling me.’
‘Boss, don’t go yet.’
‘What?’
‘Something else you ought to know. The place has a large indoor swimming pool.’
‘Has it?’ Keeping a poker face was difficult. ‘Worth noting. See you later.’ For a moment after switching off, she paused to let her brain catch up with what she’d heard. Deciding to go for broke, she crossed the room and said in a sharp, accusing tone, ‘Sally Frith of Bosham. One of your women, right?’
‘Huh?’ Rick swayed back as if she’d aimed a blow at him.
She spoke the name a second time.
‘What’s happened?’ he said, giving a fair rendering of shock.
‘Answer the question, Rick. Is Sally Frith your lover?’
‘I see her sometimes, yes. What is it?’
‘She was the body found at Apuldram.’
A stunned silence.
Slowly his hand went to his throat and clasped it. ‘Sally?’ He’d turned ashen. His voice was reduced to a murmur. ‘I can’t believe this.’
‘Can’t believe it happened, or can’t believe I know about it?’
‘Are you certain?’
Hen gave a nod. ‘That was my colleague speaking from the house.’ She waited briefly, then said, ‘You’ve done the surprised bit now, Rick. You can answer some questions, like how long have you known the lady?’
He shifted in his chair and dragged his fingers across his mouth, surely aware of the trouble he was in. ‘I don’t know. Eighteen months, maybe. I did some work for her, a survey for some reconstruction at the house. We formed a friendship. This is so hard to believe.’
‘She was some years older than you.’
‘It didn’t matter. We didn’t discuss our ages. She was a sweet person.’
‘You know she had a criminal record?’
‘She told me. She was badly let down.’ He took in a sharp breath. ‘Do you think he did this—the bastard who got her into all that trouble?’
‘The last we heard, he was in Hong Kong. It’s unlikely he’d risk setting foot in Britain again.’
‘One of his cronies, then?’
‘What would be the point? Everything came out at her trial.’
‘Was anything stolen from the house?’
‘Too early to say. When did you see her last?’
He gave the question some thought. ‘About ten days ago. I used to visit her most Sundays.’
‘Not for church, I dare say.’
He glared back. ‘She cooked us a roast lunch. It was a regular thing. I made no secret of it. Jo knew all about it, and so did Gemma.’
‘And we don’t need to ask what was for afters. This arrangement lasted eighteen months. You appreciate being mothered, obviously.’
‘That’s unfair.’
‘Ten days ago, you say. Weren’t you there on Sunday?’
He hesitated, weighing the options. ‘I called at the house, but there was no answer.’
‘When was this?’
‘Around midday.’
‘Had you spoken to her on the phone?’
‘No. I just turned up at the usual time. I was surprised and a bit concerned actually. I waited for a while and walked around the outside. It was all locked up.’
‘Everything in order?’
‘It seemed to be. There was no sign of a break-in. Nobody else was about. The house is detached in its own grounds, so it was no use asking neighbours. I tried phoning her and got no answer. After about forty minutes, I gave up and came away.’
‘Pretty pissed off at missing your Sunday treat?’
‘A bit, if I’m honest. I tried calling her later. I was thinking she’d gone out for the day and forgotten to tell me.’
‘So what did you do for lunch?’
‘Sandwich.’
‘Where? A local pub?’
‘I went home.’
‘Pity. If you’d eaten out we might have a till receipt, or even someone who remembers you.’
‘I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t hang about because I was meeting some friends later. A birthday.’
‘And you forgot all about Sally? Where was the party?’
‘On the Isle of Wight.’
‘Anyone I know?’
‘Gemma. It was her birthday. We went to a club. And Jo was there, too.’
‘While Sally lay dead in Cartwright’s pool.’
He shouted, ‘I didn’t know that. I’ve never been near the fuck-ing place.’
Gary pointed a finger and said, ‘Cool it.’
‘Okay,’ Hen said in a calm, measured tone, ‘let’s explore what happened according to what you’ve told us. Sally wasn’t there when you arrived, and she turns up dead in Cartwright’s pool on Tuesday afternoon. The pathologist estimates she’d been dead for two to five days, probably drowned. The day of death was therefore Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. She was in a pink swimsuit. Did you ever swim with her?’
‘Never. I don’t like swimming.’
‘But Sally must have enjoyed it. She had a pool of her own.’
‘She told me she swam before breakfast every day. She believed in keeping fit.’
‘She’d need to,’ Hen said, and added, ‘All that cooking. What I can’t get my head round is why she’d go to an outdoor pool in October when she was used to swimming indoors and at home. Any suggestions?’
‘Cartwright must be alive.’
‘Did Sally know Cartwright?’
‘I couldn’t tell you.’
‘She didn’t ever mention him?’
‘She wouldn’t, would she?’
Watching for his reaction, Hen said, ‘Are you suggesting she was promiscuous?’
He shifted in his chair. ‘I’m not saying anything else without my solicitor being present.’
‘Good thinking,’ Hen said, untroubled. ‘Let’s all go back to the nick and do this properly in an interview room.’
AFTER HER disturbed night, Jo woke later than usual. The phone by the bed was going. She snatched it up, hoping to hear Jake.
The voice was male, and for a moment she was fooled into saying, ‘Sweet Jesus, I can’t tell you how worried I’ve been about you.’
The caller nervously announced himself as Adrian, her boss. ‘Have I woken you up? Sorry. You won’t have heard about the flooding. The road is under four feet of water at Singleton. There’s no way I can get in to work this morning, so I’m phoning round to see who can make it.’
Adrian lived at Midhurst, north of Singleton. Jo was south of the flooded area, and so was the garden centre. ‘I’ll try and get in.’
‘I’d be so grateful. Karen’s going to try as well. I’m not expecting customers in weather like this. My worry is that we may have flood damage ourselves. It could ruin the stock.’
‘I’ll call you if and when I get there,’ she said.
She tried Jake’s number next. No answer.
AT THE police station, Hen left Rick in a side room with his solicitor. The law’s delay was one of the few certainties in police work. She was not downhearted. More needed to be uncovered before she could make real inroads with this guy. Smart questioning uncovers the truth, but it has to be rooted in good detective work.
Still on her desk in the interview room in its transparent evidence bag was the invitation card that had lured Meredith Sentinel to her death. She picked it up and ran her fingertips across the embossed lettering. An elaborate con. No other cards had been traced and she was confident of her theory that this one was unique, an invitation to a non-existent
reunion. If she could prove Rick had sent it, she’d be well armed for the next round.
But he couldn’t have sent it to a woman he didn’t know.
Was there a connection to Meredith, something yet to be discovered? Either he’d been around in 1987 and met her at the dig and fantasised about her ever since, or he’d got to know her more recently. Through his work? He belonged to various professional societies, and they would have meetings in London, where Meredith lived and worked. A chance encounter? She did some work for the World Wildlife Fund, her husband had mentioned. Was Rick involved in that in some capacity? He didn’t seem the sort.
She examined the card again. The embossed lettering hadn’t been done on a computer. This was a printer’s work.
Kleentext Print Solutions?
She called their number and asked to speak to Gemma Casey. The receptionist said she’d try. Some of the staff weren’t in because of the flooding.
Fortunately, Gemma answered, and Hen explained about the card and its importance to the case. ‘We think it likely that only one was printed. It’s nicely done on cream-coloured card with embossed lettering.’
‘Swanky. We do that kind of work, mainly as wedding stationery,’ Gemma said, ‘but I doubt if this was ours. Only one, you say? It would be uneconomic.’
‘Depends if the client was willing to stump up,’ Hen pointed out.
‘You’re talking fifty pounds minimum for one card.’
‘Understood,’ Hen said. ‘Well, maybe he had about fifty printed and destroyed all but one. They didn’t get sent out. I’m sure of that.’
‘Anyway, we’d have a record of it,’ Gemma said. ‘The proof would have come through my office and I can’t recall the wording you just read out. If you hang on, I’ll check to be certain. We keep a copy of everything.’ In under five minutes she was back. ‘No, it was definitely done by another printer. We don’t usually give out the names of our rivals, but in this case . . . ’
Hen noted them. ‘And while you’re on the line,’ she said to Gemma, ‘has your friend Rick ever spoken to you about the Selsey mammoth?’
‘The what?’
‘A mammoth was excavated in 1987.’
‘What’s it got to do with Rick?’
‘I’m wondering if he took part in the dig.’
‘All those years ago? I doubt it. I’m sure he would have boasted about it. You know what blokes are like. Jake’s the expert on things like that. He’s a fossil-hunter.’
‘True, but he wasn’t on the dig. What about you, Gemma? You were local. Did you volunteer?’
‘Me? I was only fifteen in 1987. Simon Le Bon grabbed me more than bones on a beach.’
‘Duran Duran? Didn’t they cover “Watching the Detectives” ?’
‘Hey, you’re a new romantic.’
She tried the other local printers. No one remembered taking on the work. The fancy invitation wasn’t the clincher it had promised to be. If that bloody man Sentinel had found the envelope it came in, the whole investigation might have been over by now.
THERE WAS real danger of aquaplaning in several places where the road dipped between Mid Lavant and West Dean. Jo slowed and hoped she wouldn’t stall. The A286 runs alongside the River Lavant all the way up to Singleton, and there are sections where it can easily burst its banks. Fortunately everyone seemed to be treating the conditions with respect and she covered the six miles to the garden centre without mishap.
Karen from the sales staff was the only one there.
‘Any damage?’
‘Nothing serious that I’ve noticed,’ Karen said. ‘Some leaking from the roof where the glass blew out the other day. We’ve lost a few winter pansies, and that’s about it.’
‘Have you called Adrian?’
‘Not yet. Should we?’
‘He was practically having kittens when he called me an hour ago. I’ll give him a call now.’
AT MID-MORNING, Hen called Stella for another progress report on the search at the Bosham house.
‘Like I said, we started upstairs. The main bedroom,’ Stella told her. After the Apuldram fiasco she was going to miss nothing. ‘The quilt was turned back for airing. Some of her clothes on a chair. Nightdress hanging in the bathroom. I get the impression she had a night’s sleep and got up and had a shower.’
‘Have you checked the pool area?’
‘Not properly.’
‘Do it next. According to Rick, she was in the habit of taking an early morning swim.’
‘Rick. What does he know about it?’
She updated Stella on the Sunday lunch routine.
Stella whistled and said, ‘He really had it made. Do you think he killed her?’
‘I’m taking this step by step. Have you looked for signs of a recent meal?’
‘There’s nothing obvious. If he was here, everything is cleared away. It’s extremely tidy. We’ll start our search of the kitchen shortly.’
‘Look in the fridge for the remains of a roast joint. And I expect there’s a dishwasher. See if that’s loaded. Oh, and be sure to check the rubbish, too.’
Stella wouldn’t normally need to be told. She may have felt she was being picked on for the past error. Hen wasn’t leaving anything to chance.
There was no complaint from Stella. She promised to call back shortly.
ADRIAN SAID he was ‘mightily relieved’ to know that the pansies were the only casualties. In his state of euphoria he suggested that Jo close at midday.
She passed on the good news to Karen.
‘Great,’ Karen said. ‘To tell you the truth, I found it quite eerie being alone here before you arrived. It’s weird, getting spooked by a garden centre, but I actually came out in goose pimples. I’ve never been here on my own before today. I was so pleased to hear you drive up.’
‘Yes, the place has a different feel to it,’ Jo said. ‘We haven’t even got Miss Peabody stalking us round the aisles.’
‘I can do without her,’ Karen said, grinning. ‘She lives up the road in Singleton, doesn’t she? Poor old soul, she’s probably under four feet of water.’
Singleton is the downland village where the Lavant first makes itself apparent. This sometime river (so benign in the summer months that it dries to an empty ditch) has its source in nearby East Dean. Serious flood problems affect the village in a specially wet winter because of a spring known as the Fountain, fed by another valley from the north.
Jo’s conscience stirred. ‘She’s my friend’s aunt. Maybe I should check and see if she’s all right.’
‘I expect the emergency people are doing that,’ Karen said. ‘You might get in their way.’
‘I don’t know. I think I owe it to Gemma to take a look. I could take the old lady some milk and bread from the Down Tools. They won’t be using any today. Luckily I put my wellies in the car in case I got stranded. I think it’s the first cottage you come to. We can see it from here.’
‘You can also see the flood water,’ Karen said. ‘Rather you than me.’ She laughed. ‘If you spot a pink hat floating past, you’d better give up and come back.’
STELLA WAS quick to phone back. ‘I checked the kitchen, guv. The dishwasher had been emptied. There is a large joint of beef in the fridge.’
‘Hey, that’s what I needed to know,’ Hen said.
‘Uncooked.’
‘What?’
‘Looking at the sell-by date, it’s probably still okay. It doesn’t smell off.’
‘So she was expecting to cook.’
‘That’s for sure. There are fresh parsnips and carrots, greens, a marrow, and a packet of runner beans.’
‘Rick told the truth about that, then. She didn’t cook his Sunday lunch. She must have gone before then. She was probably dead.’
‘I also looked at the pool area, as you asked, and there’s one of those white bathrobes made of towelling.’
‘Where?’
‘Draped over a lounger, plus a spare towel.’
‘Flip-flops?�
��
‘Yes. Beside the lounger.’
Hen’s thoughts were in overdrive. ‘Stella, listen carefully. Don’t touch anything else. I want the pool area taped off as a crime scene. Get the white zipsuits out to the house as soon as possible. I’m almost certain she was drowned in her own pool and moved to Apuldram.’
‘The body was moved? Why?’
‘Shift the corpse and you shift the suspicion. We assumed the killer was Cartwright. Big mistake.’
twenty-four
RICK’S SOLICITOR HAD DELAYED as long as he reasonably could and now the so-called voluntary statement was under way again.
Hen wasn’t wasting words. ‘What do you drive?’
Rick said, ‘An E Class Mercedes.’
‘On the street outside?’
‘Yes.’
‘The keys, please.’
‘Just a moment, officer,’ the lawyer said with a smile at Hen’s apparent naivety. ‘You can’t do that. My client is assisting with your enquiries. If you want the power to search his vehicle, you’ll have to arrest him.’
‘Is that the way you want to play it?’
‘Why do you need to search my car?’ Rick asked.
‘I believe Sally Frith was drowned in her own swimming pool and then transported to Apuldram and put in the pool in Mr Cartwright’s garden.’
‘And you think I did this?’ Some outrage showed in Rick’s response. Not enough for Hen’s liking.
‘If you did, there will be traces in your car. You can prove you didn’t by allowing us to make a forensic examination.’
The solicitor put a restraining hand on Rick’s arm. ‘I don’t advise it.’
‘I’ve nothing to hide,’ Rick said.
‘Let me put it this way,’ the solicitor said. ‘Impressed as I am with our estimable forensic science service and its painstaking methods, one hears of the occasional mistake being made through no one’s fault, of course, and leading to a wrongful conviction.’
‘Have it your way,’ Hen said without rising to the sarcasm. ‘Richard Graham, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything—’
‘Hang on,’ Rick interrupted, swinging to face his adviser. ‘If they do that, they can take my DNA and fingerprints and I’m on their bloody database for the rest of my life.’ He pulled the car keys from his pocket and and tossed them across the table to Hen. ‘You won’t find jack shit. Sally never even had a ride in my car.’
The Headhunters Page 31
