by David Hodges
Ansell sat for several minutes, staring at the front page of the newspaper Callow had left behind, his thin violinist fingers tapping out a noisy tattoo on the scarred teak surface.
The headline of The Clarion seemed to scream at him like an obscenity, ‘What A Mess,’ and, reading on, one by one the inflammatory phrases in Naomi Betjeman’s front page exposé exploded in his face with the force of a landmine: ‘… killer strolled into the police station unhindered and bugged incident-room … mind-boggling incompetence of a totally dysfunctional inquiry team … investigation plagued by constant in-fighting and inept leadership … SIO nicknamed Ethelred for good reason … reporter threatened by inquiry team’s “android” DCI … killer laughing all the way to the mortuary….’
Even after reading the piece, the DCI continued to sit there, sipping his coffee and thinking. He had expected a critical story after his run-in with Naomi Betjeman, but this was way over the top and totally out of order. His only comfort was in the short editorial comment on a bold reverse block at the foot of the page, which reported that the reporter had been seriously injured in a fall from a staircase at her place of work. ‘Well now,’ he said to himself, ‘there is some justice in the world after all then.’
Detective Superintendent Willoughby didn’t seem to share that view when he put in an appearance shortly afterwards, however, and his face paled when Ansell held up the newspaper in front of him, pinching one corner between finger and thumb, as if it were a piece of dirty linen.
‘It appears we have been shafted,’ he said quietly.
Snatching the tabloid from him, Willoughby studied the article intently for a few minutes before pulling out a handkerchief and mopping his forehead. ‘Good grief, the Chief Constable will go mad when he reads this,’ he gasped.’
Ansell shrugged. ‘At least it will liven up his morning,’ he said drily.
Willoughby stared at him in astonishment, then stabbed a fat finger at the page. ‘I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to say that,’ he exclaimed. ‘She actually refers to you as a bloody android.’
Ansell’s eyes gleamed and he chuckled for the first time with something akin to genuine mirth. ‘Better than being referred to as Ethelred,’ he commented, adding, ‘the Unready.’
Willoughby did not appear to have heard his retort, but peered at the article again and shook his head, frowning heavily. ‘So how the devil did she get hold of all this information? It’s almost as though she was at one of our briefings.’
Ansell gave another shrug. ‘I’ve said before that we have a leak on the team and now I’m pretty sure who it is.’
‘Then we should haul them in pronto.’
Ansell grunted. ‘Be a bit difficult at the moment. I suspect our man is Philip Sharp, but since he’s been arrested on a positive breath test after a multiple TA last night, it’s all a bit academic; he’ll be getting the push anyway in due course.’ He made a face. ‘At least he won’t be leaking any more information anyway.’
‘Bit late for that now,’ Willoughby commented heavily. ‘Damage is already done, and this Betjeman creature probably has all she needs by now anyway – could be working on another piece as we speak.’
Ansell shook his head. ‘Unlikely. She had a fall at work last night apparently and is on the critical list. All we can do is to try and ride out the storm and hope for some kind of break-through in this damned murder case.’
Willoughby slouched to the window and stared gloomily out into another grey morning, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. ‘Any bright ideas?’ he went on. ‘We could be finished if we don’t get somewhere soon.’
Ansell grimaced. ‘Fresh out of ideas at present,’ he replied. ‘Maybe we should ask your Doctor Norton when he turns up for this morning’s briefing – though, I have to say, he hasn’t been of much use to date – despite the esteem in which you said he was held when he joined us.’
Willoughby swallowed, acutely conscious of the fact that Norton had been engaged on his authority. ‘You can’t blame me for that,’ he protested, ‘I’d never actually met the man before, but I did quite a lot of ringing around after he telephoned me to kindly offer his services. And yes, it seems he is held in very high esteem, having been an asset to a number of other police investigations.’
Ansell grunted. ‘Has he indeed? Well, our so-called expert had better start adding some value to our team now,’ he said uncharitably, ‘before we all end up down the toilet.’
‘And we can’t have that, can we?’ another voice cut in on the conversation.
Neither Willoughby or Ansell had been aware of the fact that the door was only ajar or that the sound of their voices carried well beyond the precincts of the office and they couldn’t have been more surprised – or embarrassed – to find Norton now standing smiling in the open doorway.
‘Which is why,’ the psychologist continued, unabashed, ‘I have put together a possible plan to ensnare our wily psychopath before he kills again.’
Kate knew the Bridgwater DC dealing with Naomi Betjeman’s accident very well. Charlie Woo had joined the force from his native Hong Kong at the same time as Kate and they had become good friends at training school. Following her rather non-committal phone call, he was waiting for her at the scene of the incident and, although obviously curious, he nevertheless grinned his pleasure when she walked into the basement archives of The Clarion building.
‘Hi Kate,’ he said with just a trace of an accent. ‘So what’s all this about then? You didn’t give much away on the phone.’
She smiled back. ‘Sorry, Charlie, not being mysterious, but I didn’t want to delay things by going into chapter and verse.’
He nodded. ‘OK, so you can tell me now then, can’t you?’
She stepped past him to look at the large semi-circular stain on the concrete floor, enclosed by police blue and white tapes.
‘She didn’t have a very nice landing, I’m afraid,’ he pointed out unnecessarily. ‘Hospital have got her in the CCU; just clinging on apparently. Multiple injuries, including a suspected fractured skull – and that’s just for starters, I’m told.’
Kate nodded. ‘What’s the SP on this one then, Charlie?’ she queried.
He pointed to the topmost landing of the staircase. ‘We think she fell from up there,’ he said. ‘Security guard – ex-job actually – found her and called an ambulance. Nothing suspicious about it as far as I could see when I got here last night – just a nasty accident. Handrail’s bent.’
‘So why is the scene taped off?’
He shrugged. ‘Just a precaution when we first arrived – possible suspicious death and all that, but my guv’nor’s satisfied that it was simply an accident. We left the tapes up as the paper’s insurers are sending an investigator down and there’s a possibility the HSE might be interested, since this is the third serious accident the paper have had on their premises in twelve months apparently.’
He studied her quizzically. ‘So why are you so interested in the job?’
She ignored his question. ‘Can I have a look up top?’ she asked.
‘Be my guest.’
Kate felt a little uneasy as she climbed the iron staircase. She had never liked stairs you could see through and the steps beneath her feet had been constructed in a latticework pattern of diamond-shaped holes and narrow slits. She felt even worse when she got to the top and peered over the distorted handrail, stepping back quickly after a quick glance at the floor beneath.
Charlie chuckled at her elbow. ‘Never did like heights, did you, Kate?’ he said, remembering a training-school exercise they had both been assigned to on the top floor of a multi-storey car-park. ‘About a thirty foot drop we reckon, maybe a bit more. Some basement, eh?’
Kate faced him. ‘So how come a fit young woman pitches over a handrail like this?’ she said. ‘It’s at least waist height.’
Another shrug. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Maybe she jumped?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. This is one ambit
ious reporter, full of confidence – and venom.’
Woo frowned. ‘So you’re saying what exactly?’ he said. ‘That she was pushed?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s a bit of a coincidence when she’s been covering our current murder inquiry.’
He grinned again. ‘Yeah, saw her piece in The Clarion this morning,’ he acknowledged. ‘Bet your guv’nor’s not too happy with it. She’s obviously got an ‘in’ with someone on the team to be able to come out with that sort of detail.’
Kate was determined not to go there. ‘Any idea what she was doing here so late?’
‘Her editor – he came out last night – says she would have been doing research for a follow-up story tomorrow,’ he replied, turning back towards the basement. ‘He was pretty upset by it all. Going to the hospital this morning, I understand, to see how she is.’
‘And what did the security guard have to say?’ she asked, joining him on the lower landing.
He thought a second, leaning back against the wall. ‘Not a lot actually. He found the basement door open, key in the lock, and clocked her lying on the floor in a pool of blood. No sign of a break-in or an intruder …’ He broke off, looking worried. ‘Look, Kate, if you think this has something to do with the murder inquiry you’re on, you should at least—’
‘So he saw no one?’
Woo rubbed his nose. ‘Well, he said he thought he saw a shadow moving off along the wall outside.’
‘A shadow?’
‘Yeah, but when he looked again, it was gone, so he put it down to imagination or the poor light.’
‘And I suppose there’s no CCTV coverage – any more than there’s a bloody alarm system?’
‘You’ve got it.’
‘And she was unconscious when he found her?’
‘More or less, yeah. Oh, she did mumble a couple of words to him, but he couldn’t make any sense of ’em.’
Kate stiffened. ‘Oh? What sort of words?’
‘Dunno – just gibberish, I guess.’
‘Gibberish?’ she echoed, thinking about the shadow he had mentioned. ‘Mind if I call and see him myself? I don’t want to step on toes, but …’
Woo grimaced. ‘Well, you seem to be doing just that at the moment, Kate, and my guv’nor won’t be best pleased. He wasn’t particularly happy about you muscling in on the arson at that block of flats and I could be in dead shtook for letting you in on this without speaking to him first. So, are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?’
She patted his arm. ‘Later, Charlie, later – I promise, but before that, I need to see your security man.’
He sighed, clearly still far from happy. ‘I don’t suppose that would hurt. Deal is, I come with you, though, OK? You can follow me there in your motor.’
‘I’ve no problem with that.’ She stared at him and raised an eyebrow, ‘but – like now would be good.’
He opened the rear door for her and followed her through. ‘What did your last slave die of?’ he threw back over his shoulder.
She chuckled. ‘Malnutrition,’ she replied. ‘He didn’t have time to eat.’
chapter 25
FRED JARVIS LIVED in a small bungalow not far from the church in the village of East Huntspill. A widower – his wife had died just weeks after his retirement – he had never thought to move on. Why would he? He had lived in the village for twenty years and there was no point looking for pastures new at his age. Besides, the place was very convenient for the M5 motorway, enabling him to pop into the security firm’s head office in Taunton and to get round the various sites allocated to him during his tours of duty with relative ease.
He was in his garden, tending his greenhouse, having finished his shift at midnight, when Kate and Charlie Woo arrived and he was obviously delighted to receive a visit from members of ‘the old firm’, as he called it.
Kate was in a hurry, conscious of the fact that she was now going to be very late for the incident-room briefing, but Jarvis was keen to make the most of the company and insisted on rustling up coffee and biscuits for his visitors before sitting down with them in his cramped living-room.
‘Bad business,’ he acknowledged, after Kate had given him the reason for their visit. ‘Young woman and all that. Hope she’s going to be OK.’
‘In the critical care unit at the moment,’ Woo advised him. ‘Only time will tell.’
Kate smiled briefly, keen to get underway with her questions. ‘Mr Jarvis,’ she began, ‘I understand you thought you saw someone in the vicinity of the building when you were checking it?’
He frowned. ‘Well, I thought I saw a figure walking away from the rear door as I approached, but it could have been a trick of the moonlight. You know what it’s like on night patrol; sometimes you see things that aren’t there. Had just checked the front doors, see, and was going down the steps to the lower car-park when I noticed the rear door was ajar and there was a light on inside—’
‘Yes, yes,’ Kate cut in impatiently, ‘so what did the figure look like?’
Jarvis shook his head slowly. ‘Couldn’t really say. It was just a shadow, but it looked like a heavy sort of bloke in a hooded coat. That’s all I saw.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Dunno. One minute he was there and the next …’ and he shrugged. ‘Like I say, I could have been mistaken. Maybe just imagination.’
‘Was there a car in the car-park?’
‘No, place was empty. I’d left my van up top.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘But I did hear a motor start up after I’d gone inside the building. Probably parked on the waste-ground on the other side of the offices.’
‘No idea of the sort of vehicle it was?’
‘Not from inside, no, but I formed the impression it was a powerful car of some sort and it didn’t drive away fast – just took it’s time. Not at all suspicious. You get an idea when something’s wrong, don’t you? Sort of gut feeling—’
‘So you went in,’ Kate summarized, trying to keep him on track, ‘and saw the woman lying on the floor?’
‘Yeah, in a pool of blood. It looked like she’d fallen from the upper landing of the staircase. Knew the young lady too. Often used to work there late. Nice woman. Gave me a cup of coffee a couple of times when I called by on my rounds—’
Kate took a deep breath. ‘Right, so what did you do?’
‘Well, bent over her, of course, to check to see if she was still alive. Found a pulse and radioed in for an ambulance and the police. Then I just waited for them to arrive.’
‘Was she unconscious?’
‘More or less, yes,’ and he frowned again, ‘but she did mumble something when I bent over her – said it twice actually, before passing out completely.’
Kate leaned forward, unable to conceal her eagerness. ‘What did she say?’
‘It was sort of gibberish.’
‘OK, but did you pick out anything?’
‘Didn’t make any sense – gibberish, as I just said.’
Kate’s mouth tightened as she tried to control her frustration. ‘Look, you were a copper for thirty years, Mr Jarvis; you were trained to notice things. Think hard, gibberish or not, what did she say?’
He did think then – for several long seconds – his brows wrinkled with the effort, while Kate waited on the edge of her seat, her fists clenched with the suspense.
‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘it was just two words, if I remember right …’
‘Go on.’
‘“Red, eyes”,’ he said, then added quickly, ‘No, “dead”, that was it, she said “dead eyes”.’
Remembering the photograph on the incident-room white board, Kate felt suddenly cold. ‘And that was all – just “dead eyes”?’
Jarvis shook his head, again furrowing his brows. ‘No, tell a lie, there was something else.’ He thought again for a few seconds and then snapped his fingers, his eyes shining. ‘Got it! “Smell”, she said something about a smell.’ He grinned. ‘Thought she meant me at first �
�� she was obviously off her trolley.’
‘Maybe not,’ Kate replied grimly, remembering that Twister had a nasty BO problem. ‘But she didn’t mention a name – Twister or anything like that?’
The security man shook his head. ‘No, just them three words: “dead eyes” and “smell”.’
Kate stood up, thanking Jarvis for his time, and Woo, who had sat silently through the whole interview, quickly followed her example. His face registered absolute bewilderment when they finally managed to extricate themselves from Jarvis’s hospitality and get outside.
‘So what exactly have we got here, Kate?’ he said, pausing between their two parked cars. ‘Obviously you think this woman’s fall has got something to do with the murder inquiry you’re on, but my DCI will want to know what.’
Kate nodded. ‘Naomi Betjeman was attacked yesterday – we think by the very same killer that we are looking for – a psycho who goes by the name of Twister. Obviously she got away from him then, but I’m pretty sure he must have followed her here and tried to finish the job.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Woo breathed, gaping at her. ‘My guv’nor will go ballistic.’
‘Then I suggest you ring him PDQ, Charlie,’ she advised, ‘and also that you go back here to guard the scene until we can get SOCO down to do a full crime-scene search.’
‘And where will you be?’
Kate went round to the driver’s door of her car. ‘At the hospital,’ she said. ‘Twister would only have targeted Naomi Betjeman a second time if he’d believed she knew something that could put him at risk. I just hope I can get to her before he tries to silence her for a third time.’
Naomi Betjeman was a ghost. Those parts of her face which were not covered by the oxygen mask were parchment white, with a worrying bluish tinge to the skin. She was connected by a confusion of cables and tubes to various humming, flashing pieces of electronic equipment, eyes closed, breasts gently rising and falling beneath the single white sheet which covered her.
