Close Ranks

by Valerie Keogh

  37

  Heather Goodbody’s house was in a road of identical houses. They stopped outside, switched off the engine, and surveyed the area. Quiet and unassuming, neat houses, well-tended gardens. A place where children could play outside and be safe, their parents unaware that a murderer lived within reach.

  ‘Let’s go,’ West said, opening the car door, and then the garden gate, peering in the windows as he approached the front door. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just what they expected. Normal, ordinary. Dull even.

  With Andrews and Edwards close behind, he looked for a doorbell, finding none, lifted the heavy door-knocker and smacked it smartly, the traditional four times. It was opened moments later, by a smiling, seemingly unconcerned Heather Goodbody.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘this is a surprise. What can I do for the Garda Siochana today? It’s not my day to volunteer, you know. Marion O’Grady is on call today.’

  ‘Actually, we’re here to ask you a few questions about Offer,’ West said, calmly. ‘If we could come in, it’ll only take a few minutes.’

  Heather shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Oh dear,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so terribly sorry to be unhelpful, but I was just heading out.’ She looked at her watch. ‘In fact, I’m already late. Perhaps if you had rung and let me know you were coming. Maybe, I could come into the station tomorrow.’

  West stood his ground for the moment but short of pushing her out of the way and going in by force, what could he do?

  Suddenly, from behind he heard a whimpering sound, and he looked around to see Edwards swaying and holding his head in his hand.

  ‘I think I’m going to faint,’ the younger man said, suddenly swaying alarmingly toward West who grabbed him just as he fell, staggering to hold his weight.

  ‘I think he’s having a heart-attack, Mike,’ Andrews said, looking closely at Edwards face. ‘We better get him lying down. If you get him under the shoulders, I’ll grab his legs.’ The two men moved to lift their now unconscious colleague. Edwards’ head lolled back. ‘Have you somewhere we can put him down, Heather. And then you’d better call an ambulance.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Heather cried, ‘it really isn’t convenient, you know. Oh dear, I suppose you’d better come in. I’ll call an ambulance. You all really need to be gone quickly, though; I was just on my way out.’

  ‘Where to?’ West said, moving into the house, forcing Heather to move back out of the way.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said again, and then opened the door into the sitting room. ‘You’d better put him on the sofa, in here.’

  Puffing, they manoeuvred Edwards’ long frame onto the sofa. He made a mewling sound as his head flopped onto a cushion. ‘Oh,’ he said opening his eyes, ‘I fainted.’

  ‘Andrews thinks you may have had a heart attack,’ West said to him. ‘Stay there, we’re going to call an ambulance, get them to take you in and check you out. How do you feel?’

  ‘Pretty awful,’ Edwards said, ‘My mouth is very dry. Would it be possible to have a drink of water?’

  West looked across to where Heather was still standing in the doorway, ‘He’d like a drink of water, would that be possible?’

  No, was on the tip of her tongue, West could tell, but just then Edwards gave another, louder whimper and she nodded and went into the kitchen.

  Edwards took the opportunity to give West a thumbs up sign. West grinned and patted him on the shoulder. Ok, they were in. Now they just had to see if there was any sign of Kelly.

  Heather returned quickly with the glass of water, slopping it onto the floor in her haste. ‘Here you are,’ she said, almost throwing it at him. ‘Have you called for an ambulance?’ she asked, looking first at West and then over to where Andrews stood at the window holding his phone.

  ‘I can’t get a signal in here,’ he muttered, waggling his phone, ‘I’ll just go outside.’

  ‘It needs to be here as quickly as possible, please. I need to leave.’

  ‘If you want, you could go and we’d just close the door after us,’ West suggested. ‘You can trust us, you know. We are the police, after all.’

  For a microsecond, a look of absolute hatred crossed Heather’s face and then it was her usual bland look. If West hadn’t been looking directly at her he would have missed it. It startled him even as he wondered had he imagined it.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that Sergeant West,’ she cried, wringing her hands.

  Andrews came back in the front door and then called as he went up the stairs, ‘I’m just using your facilities, Heather.’

  She was out the door in a flash, looking up the stairs after him.

  Aha, West thought, she’s up there. Andrews will find her.

  Heather came back in, a look of irritation on her face. ‘Honestly, he might have had the manners to ask first.’

  The irritated look passed too quickly and West knew they had it wrong. She wasn’t upstairs.

  Andrews’ grim look when he returned confirmed it. He’d checked every room, quickly located the attic door in the back bedroom, climbed onto a chair to push the door open and was tall enough to cast an eye around the interior. Dust around the floor proved nothing, and nobody, had been pushed up into the attic in the recent few days.

  He met West’s gaze, gave a subtle shake of his head.

  Edwards tried to sit up, groaning as he did so. ‘I hate to be a nuisance,’ he said, ‘but I really need to go to the toilet myself. Do you have a downstairs toilet I could use?’

  Heather looked pained. ‘Honestly, can’t you wait? The ambulance should be here any minute.’

  Edwards grimaced. ‘I don’t think I can wait. I’m sorry. Perhaps if you help me,’ he said looking at West, ‘I might make it up the stairs.’

  Heather was almost jumping from foot to foot, leaning every second to peer out the window, expecting an ambulance to sail into view to take these men away. She sighed loudly and then said, in a voice laced with exasperation, ‘There’s a toilet in the utility room. Off the kitchen. You can use that. If you must.’

  Edwards made a big performance of getting to his feet, ad libbing with a whimper when he stood, and a groan when he walked. He leaned heavily on West’s arm, swayed dramatically as they made their way down a hallway past a lovely old dresser and into the kitchen.

  Neither the kitchen not the utility room held any surprises. Edwards closed the door into the small utility/downstairs toilet, seconds later flushing, turning on taps and then coming out to join West who had taken the opportunity to scrutinise the back garden. A shed or garage would be the ideal spot for concealment. But the rectangular walled garden had neither.

  They were out of options. She wasn’t there.

  38

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ West whispered to Edwards.

  They met Heather in the hallway. ‘Edwards is feeling a bit better now, Miss Goodbody, so I think since the ambulance hasn’t turned up, I’ll take him to the hospital in my car. We’ll phone the emergency services and cancel the ambulance.

  ‘I hope we haven’t made you too late for your appointment,’ West said, his voice conciliatory.

  ‘Well, you have,’ she replied, not the least mollified. ‘I’m not the least bit happy. I’ll be having a word with Inspector Morrison.’

  ‘Perhaps, if you come into the station tomorrow,’ West suggested, ‘around ten? We could ask those questions we wanted to ask, and you could speak to the inspector then. Two birds with one stone and all that.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she conceded frostily. And she closed the front door without further ado.

  The three gardai sat in the car for a few moments.

  ‘She’s not rushing out, is she?’ Andrews said. ‘I thought we’d made her late?’

  Just then the door opened and Heather Goodbody came out, coat on, an umbrella in her hand. Holding her chin up, she refused to look their way and walked resolutely down the pathway. They watched till she vanished around the corner before starting the engine.

  ‘What no
w?’ Edwards asked.

  ‘Firstly,’ West said, ‘well done with the amateur dramatics.’

  Edwards laughed. ‘It just came to me. Would have been great if we’d found Mrs Johnson. You still think Heather’s responsible?’

  Did he? West sighed. It felt right. But if she was holding Kelly captive somewhere, where was it?

  ‘Maybe I should follow her, see where she’s going,’ Andrews said, and then with a glance at West, he nodded, ‘I’ll catch up, see where she’s heading.’ He pulled a cap from his pocket and pulled it on. ‘My disguise,’ he smiled and got out of the car and walked briskly down the road.

  ‘Let’s get back to the station. When Andrews rings, go pick him up, Paul,’ West said to the younger man who gave a quick nod in response.

  Back in the station West debated going directly to Morrison. Deciding he couldn’t face it quite yet, he headed into the main office with Edwards trailing behind. Leaving him to update the other members of the team, who were hanging around not doing a lot as far as West could see, he headed into his own office, closed the door and sat heavily into his seat. He held his face in his hands for a few seconds and then sat back, rubbing the tiredness away. Where the hell was she?

  He needed to focus on the case.

  On Heather Goodbody.

  Circumstantial. All of it. That’s what they’d say.

  Especially after the fiasco with Viveka Larsson. They wouldn’t forget that in a hurry. Dammit it, they were right too. It was all circumstantial. Even if she had called the vegetable manioc esculenta instead of cassava, it was still such a tenuous connection; they’d laugh him out of court. All they had was the word of a woman, even the most politically correct advocate would have deemed not quite the full shilling.

  They were back to no motive, no proof. No damn case.

  And all he could think about was Kelly and where on earth she was. He was sure he was right about Heather. But, as Morrison would point out, he’d been sure he was right about Viveka Larsson as well.

  It was becoming a muddle; a tangle he couldn’t seem to unravel. He really needed to step back, try and get it all into focus.

  He was still sitting trying to do just that, getting absolutely nowhere, when there was a quick rap on the door. He didn’t have time to reply, to tell whoever it was to go away and leave him in peace, before the door opened and Edwards head popped in view.

  ‘Just had a call from Andrews, Sarge,’ he said. ‘Heather Goodbody has just gone back to her house. I’m going down to pick him up.’

  West nodded and Edwards left, leaving the door ajar.

  Fifteen minutes later, it was Andrews’ head that popped around the door.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked, not waiting for an answer, throwing his coat over a chair and turning to go back into the general office, returning moments later with two mugs.

  ‘Thanks, Peter,’ West said when the mug was placed carefully in front of him, Andrews having overfilled each mug. ‘No sugar?’ he questioned, having been caught out before when the mugs got mixed up.

  With a grin, Andrews sipped his mug. ‘No, you’re ok. This is nice and sweet.’

  They drank in companionable silence for a few minutes before West put his mug down. ‘It really is vile stuff,’ he said, ‘Well, where did she go?’

  ‘She hopped on a 46A.’ Andrews said, continuing to sip on his coffee. ‘Luckily there were a few people waiting so she didn’t notice me getting on behind. She got off at Nutley Lane and walked to Viveka Larsson’s, stayed there about five minutes before coming out. She wasn’t carrying anything going in to the apartment, but she was carrying a small package when she came out.’

  West frowned. ‘And then?’

  ‘She walked back to the main road, waited at the bus stop. I couldn’t get too close but got lucky again, two 46A’s came together, she got on the first, I got on the second. She went home again, Mike.’

  ‘We need to find out what was in the package,’ West said. ‘It may be totally innocent but...’

  Andrews continued with his coffee. ‘I suppose we could call on Viveka Larsson and just ask her.’

  West ran a hand through his hair. ‘She wasn’t happy with us this morning, Peter. I’m not sure she’d take too kindly to being asked questions about what she gave to Heather Goodbody. It may be something totally innocent to do with Offer or something else innocuous. She’d be under no obligation to tell us anyway.’

  Just then, Sam Jarvis’ handsome face appeared in the doorway looking, as usual, as if he would be more at home on the cover of GQ. He looked at Andrews and then West, a serious look on his face. ‘Am I interrupting? It’s just something I wanted to mention.’

  ‘Come in Sam,’ West said waving him to a chair. ‘What is it?’

  Jarvis hesitated and then, taking a deep breath, said, ‘Paul filled me in on what happened earlier. With Heather Goodbody. He told me about his clever plan to get you all into the house and that you didn’t find any trace of Kelly Johnson.’

  When he hesitated again, Andrews used the toe of his shoe to give him a nudge and muttered, ‘Get on with it, Sam.’

  Sam flushed and took another deep breath. ‘Paul says you searched everywhere, even the attic. But...what about under the stairs? Paul never mentioned under the stairs. Those houses would have been built with storage there and a lot of people converted them into downstairs cloakrooms.

  West closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

  Sam Jarvis flushed a deeper shade of red. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Of course, you’ve thought of that.’

  West shook his head again. ‘No, Sam, I didn’t. Goddamn it, she has a dresser in the hallway. It never entered my head it would be covering something. But something did strike me as being strange. It’s the kind of dresser you would put plates and pottery on and yet the shelves were empty.’

  ‘Because she needs to move it,’ Andrews said, looking at Sam with approbation. ‘Good thinking.’

  ‘Yes, well done,’ West added and then said slowly, ‘we need to get a look in there. The same trick won’t work, unfortunately.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she have called out?’ Jarvis asked. ‘She’d have heard you outside. By all accounts you were all making enough noise.’

  ‘Unless she wasn’t able to,’ West said quietly, the frown marks between his eyes deepening.

  Andrews moved restlessly. ‘She could have been gagged or anything. No point in trying to outguess ourselves. Can’t we try for a warrant?’

  West didn’t answer for a few minutes. Jarvis shuffled, anxious to be doing something. Andrews, his eyes focused on West, waited patiently.

  ‘We’ll never get a warrant with what we have. We’ve nothing concrete. Hell, Kelly hasn’t been reported missing. After all, Peter,’ he added with a trace of a smile, ‘she has been known to vanish. Remember?’

  ‘She certainly led us a sorry dance,’ Andrews replied, ‘but you don’t think this is the same.’

  It was a statement rather than a question but West answered anyway, groaning and running his hands through his hair. ‘No, I think she’s in trouble. But we have to go by the book. If we’re right, this inappropriately named Goodbody woman murdered Gerard Roberts. We don’t want her getting off on a technicality. Come on, Peter, I think we should visit Ms Larsson. See what it was she was doing there.

  ‘Jarvis,’ he said answering the unsaid plea in the younger man’s eyes, ‘you might as well come along for the ride.’

  West drove and they arrived in Nutley lane thirty minutes later, traffic conspiring against them all the way.

  ‘We’re going to play this quietly and cautiously,’ he said, parking outside. ‘She’s not best pleased with us; hasn’t any obligation to tell us what it was Heather wanted. But she had a connection to Kelly, felt sorry for her. I’m going to play on that.’

  They waited for a long time after ringing the intercom bell before a quavering tinny voice asked what they wanted.

  ‘Ms Larsson, it’s Mike West, Garda Se
rgeant Mike West with the Garda Siochana. We hate to disturb you but is it possible to have a word?’

  Static greeted his request and then the distinct buzz as the catch was released and they quickly pushed open the door as they had done not many hours earlier.

  They reached her apartment door as it opened, Viveka Larsson waving them in. It had only been a matter of hours since they had last seen her but West thought she looked frailer, weaker. There was an air of finality about her that hadn’t been there this morning. An acceptance that time was now measured in hours, not days, and that she had done all she could do to ensure safe passage.

  ‘I didn’t think to see you again, Sergeant West, or,’ she said with a sideways look at Andrews and Jarvis, ‘your satellites.’

  She waved them to chairs and moved slowly to sit in a small winged chair that faced the window, lowering herself carefully but unable to hide the wince of pain that flitted across her face. ‘I was admiring the view,’ she said eventually, nodding to the distant lights of the city. ‘During the day there is a view of the mountains. I was born in the mountains, Sergeant West. It is nice to see them again, now that I am dying.’

  There was no quest for sympathy in her words, just a measure of acceptance. West moved a chair to sit near her, leaving Andrews and Jarvis hovering near the doorway.

  ‘There is a lovely view from here, day or night,’ West commented, turning to look at her, noticing the sheen of perspiration over her translucent skin from the effort of moving to the door and back. Her breathing was more laboured than earlier. West guessed she didn’t have much time. ‘Is there someone who could come and stay with you?’ he asked gently.

  Dragging her eyes from the view, she looked at him and smiled. ‘A volunteer from Offer, maybe? No, Sergeant West, you were wrong about that. It was never my intention.’ Her smile widened and her eyes, just for a second, sparkled and, in that instant, West saw the charismatic woman she had been. Then her eyes dulled, the smile faded and she moved her gaze back to the view. ‘I have all I need here.’