‘Bit of a non-starter, to be honest, sir.’ I thought it better not to mention the drawstring bag. ‘We have a witness who identified a couple of possible suspects, but Denny didn’t see them as likely for it, and he seems to have been right. Both are alibied for the night in question. Since then, nothing, really.’
Bowers gave a knowing nod. ‘Come up to my office, would you?’
I’d never really studied Bowers before, beyond the sharp suits, haircut and clipped accent that set him out as ex-public school. He was way above small fry like me and in addition, Denny had placed himself as a barrier between us, as if for protection, though I’m not sure for whom. The furnishing in Bowers’ office was spare and disciplined, much like the man himself. The only indulgence he allowed himself was the handful of framed photographs on his desk: attractive spouse, photogenic offspring and a faithful hound. On the walls were the certificates reminding us lesser mortals that he had been educated, via University College London, to postgraduate level. With distinction. He sat down in an ergonomic chair that would’ve looked at home in the control room of a spaceship, and invited me to take the bog-standard one opposite.
He leaned back in his seat, hands over the armrests and frowning at me, as if he was working out a complex problem.
‘I think you need a diversion,’ he said, finally. ‘Something to take your mind off things.’ So now him, too. Everyone thought I needed distracting.
‘I know Denny thought a lot of you, Fraser. He told me that you have great potential.’
‘Did he?’ Like Tony’s remarks, this came as a genuine surprise. I didn’t like to tell Bowers that, thanks to him, I felt Denny hardly knew I was there.
In a creepy bit of telepathy, Bowers then said, ‘I’m sorry, I realise that in the last few weeks I rather monopolised PC Sutton’s time. He was working on something for me, which perhaps got in the way of you two getting to know each other. But trust me, it was for a good cause. Denny may have mentioned to you that we have someone rather special visiting Charnford very soon.’ He had my full attention now, along with a hefty dose of curiosity, and the sense that a poisoned chalice was heading my way. I assumed what I hoped was a blank expression.
‘Denny was working on the security arrangements,’ Bowers went on. ‘And was going to take care of our guest while they’re here. Our visitor is coming alone, and likes to travel independently. How would you feel about taking over the reins?’ I realised I was meant to be flattered.
‘Um . . . yes, sir. I mean, I’d be honoured, sir,’ I said. It was a bit left field, but it would do my career no harm to be working so clearly under the watchful eye of the superintendent. It might give me an opportunity to prove to him what I could do.
‘In terms of the actual organisation there isn’t a lot left to do, just a few remaining specifics to confirm. Denny had arranged most of it. But I think it would be appropriate for you to see it through for him. You’re smart and clean-cut. I understand you’re pretty handy. The plan was that Denny would act as a kind of body man for our visitor and I think you’d make a perfect replacement. Have you got a decent suit?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Perfect. As I said, most of the graft has been done in terms of planning, but it’s important that it all goes smoothly, as Denny would have wanted. That means attention to detail. You’ll need to focus all your energy on it, so it would be best if you handed over the Greaves case and any other outstanding work to another officer, for the duration.’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that, sir. I’m sure I can handle both at the same time.’
‘Just temporarily,’ Bowers insisted. ‘Until this visit is over. We shan’t know until the last minute when exactly it’s going ahead, so I need you on standby. And I don’t want you to be sidetracked.’
I hesitated. ‘Am I allowed to know who this visitor is?’
‘Naturally. All in good time.’
It seemed a good opportunity to ask. ‘And why exactly is he — or she — coming here, sir?’
‘You may not realise this, Fraser, but our humble town has a lot going for it,’ said Bowers. ‘Essentially, we want to show off what we have — a strong local economy, with low crime and high conviction rates, few social problems, lower rates of benefit claims. Our local authority and health trust are amongst the most cost-effective in the country, and improving. The government is keen to support areas that are helping themselves and this will be our chance to secure future government investment.’
So that was what it was all about. The claims were pretty impressive. I couldn’t help but wonder how the superintendent knew all of that, but I supposed he would have been brushing up in readiness for the visit. But if that was all it boiled down to, it did make all the cloak and dagger seem completely unnecessary.
There didn’t seem much option but to do as he suggested and bow out of the Greaves case, but it just might take me a little time to decide who was best to hand it over to, especially now that it was getting interesting. The main thing was the obligation I felt towards Greaves himself, but I felt sure he’d understand. This kind of thing happened all the time. If I was careful about whom I chose to hand the case on to, I’d be able to stay involved on some level. And as Bowers himself had said, it was only temporary.
Chapter Twenty-seven
‘Do you want me to file this or shred it?’ asked Plum. It was customary for us to spend the last hour of the day doing routine filing, leaving the deck clear for a fresh start in the morning, and she had in her hand the flimsy folder that contained the brief notes I had taken on Rita Todd.
‘Doesn’t seem much point in holding onto it.’ But something made me hesitate. I sensed the same in Plum too.
‘It’s not fair,’ she said. ‘If all everyone knows is that Rita got suspended after two babies died then they’re going to think it was down to her, even if it’s not true.’ Plum’s sense of fair play rivalled my own. ‘And if it happened because someone was giving her a hard time, they shouldn’t get away with it. Isn’t there anything we can do?’
‘Not unless we can prove that someone else’s behaviour is what drove Rita to suicide, and I don’t know what we could possibly achieve, even if we did have all the facts.’
Taking the folder from Plum, I read through what I had noted down following that short exchange with Rita. I tried to remember her demeanour as she spoke, but still there was nothing I could recall that even hinted at what she was about to do. I would have felt a whole lot better, though, if I had known that I wasn’t the last person she talked to. If I was honest, at the time, I was flattered that Rita chose me. This reluctance to let go was vanity as much as anything.
‘That Delores might be worth talking to,’ said Plum.
‘She’s in the Caribbean,’ I said. ‘I don’t think Jake is likely to cough up for a research trip there, do you?’
‘What about this bloke Rita was seeing, then? He must know something. She’d have talked to him.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I said. ‘Except no one apart from her neighbour has so much as mentioned him. No, Jake’s right. We have to let this one go.’ Handing back the folder, I could see that she was disappointed.
‘Got any plans after work?’ I asked.
‘Not especially.’
‘Fancy coming for a walk?’
She hesitated. ‘All right,’ she said.
* * *
Rita had set off on foot from PGW and had somehow finished up by the river close to the bridge, so when we left the office that afternoon, that was where we headed to.
‘What is it we’re looking for?’ asked Plum.
‘I’ve no idea,’ I admitted. I could only hope that we’d know it when we saw it. ‘The woman next door to Rita said she went to Barney’s bar, didn’t she? I thought we could look for that to begin with.’
The route took us along the main high street past shops, restaurants and the occasional pub. But after only twenty minutes, we’d walked the length of
the street twice and there was no sign of a Barney’s anywhere. We even stopped and asked a couple of people, but no one seemed to know it. Plum got her phone out. She was more dextrous than me.
‘Anything?’ I asked.
‘Loads,’ she said, still frowning at the phone. ‘There’s a few Barney’s Barber Shops and a Barney’s Bar in Amsterdam or Lanzarote.’
‘But nothing in Charnford,’ I surmised.
She looked up. ‘Sweet FA.’
We’d reached the bridge by now and were none the wiser about where Rita might have gone. My back to the wall, I turned 180 degrees, studying the surroundings for inspiration, and there it was — a square, white brick building, constructed in the 1960s and set into a small graveyard.
‘Rita didn’t go to Barney’s bar,’ I said, mostly to myself. ‘Come on,’ I said to Plum. ‘We’re going to church.’
She turned and shot me exactly the kind of look I’d have expected if I’d told her I was taking up Christianity again, but agreed to come in with me for translation purposes.
With some effort, I pushed open the heavy wooden door to St Barnabas church. Inside was dark and hushed, and at first glance seemingly deserted, but we could hear sounds coming from the direction of the altar. We walked to the front of the church, where the sound seemed to be emanating from a side door, and a short passageway led to what must be the vestry. Through the open door we saw a man sorting through piles of books and packing them into boxes. I tapped lightly on the wood panelling and he looked up.
‘Hello. You’re the priest here?’ I inquired, though the dog collar was something of a giveaway.
‘Father Adrian,’ he said, with the hint of an accent. ‘Adriano, really, but most people here call me by my English name.’ Perhaps fifty or so, he scrutinised us with brown eyes in a dark and handsome face, reminding me of what Laura and Cate had said about him. ‘How can I help you?’
‘We want to ask you about one of your flock,’ said Plum, casting a look in my direction that said See? I’ve got the lingo. ‘Rita Todd.’
‘Ah, Rita.’ Closing his eyes momentarily, he crossed himself and murmured a few words, ending with ‘Amen’.
‘You knew her, then?’ said Plum.
‘Not well,’ he said, quickly. ‘I met her perhaps once or twice, but I haven’t seen her for a little while now. I read about her death, though. It was a shock. It’s a terrible thing for anyone to be so in despair . . .’
‘When did you last see her?’ I asked. ‘Did she come to Mass?’ It might signal a return to her faith, if that was the case.
Bringing his palms together under his chin, he took a breath.
‘Not exactly.’ He seemed to hesitate, choosing his words carefully. ‘Rita had struggled with her faith in the past, so had stayed away from St Barnabas for a long time. But like so many others, she was looking for a way through what can be a troubling world. She thought that I could help her. She came to the church just a few times in the evenings, when she had finished working. I think we might have prayed once, but mostly she wanted to talk, about the things that preoccupied her. She told me about her job and the challenges it presented. I listened. I offered what support I could, but I feared it wasn’t enough.’ His eyes glazed over and he became lost in his own thoughts, seemingly oblivious to our presence. ‘I couldn’t live up to what she wanted from me,’ he said, mostly to himself. ‘I hoped that we had reached an . . . understanding, but now it seems I failed her.’ Suddenly he remembered we were there and his eyes met mine. ‘I don’t have the Lion’s courage, you see.’
He walked back up the church with us, and as we approached the door a thought struck me — Father Adrian. Not ‘FRA’ but ‘Fr A’.
‘Did you send Rita some flowers?’ I asked.
He seemed taken aback by the question.
‘No.’ I wasn’t sure that I believed him. He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘I’m sorry, you are Rita’s family?’
‘I’m a lawyer, Stefan Greaves. Rita came to me for help, but of a more practical kind. I’m afraid I let her down, too.’
He nodded. ‘She will be in our prayers.’
There seemed nothing more to say. As he bid us goodbye, a mobile phone rang, which, it soon became apparent, was the priest’s. With a brief apology, he took the call and Plum and I watched as he turned and strode down the nave towards his office, his vestments billowing out behind him.
‘She got to him, didn’t she?’ said Plum. ‘Even though he’d only known Rita a little while.’
‘I feel bad enough having only had one short conversation with her,’ I pointed out. ‘And he’s a priest. He must feel even worse that he didn’t see it coming.’
But Plum had a point. I thought about Father Adrian and Rita spending evenings in the church, discussing their faith, and I considered the priest’s reaction to our questions. And the thought that had threatened to germinate began to put down roots, until it was almost impossible to ignore. Unnatural death, it is said, is usually about one of three things: money, revenge or sex. Nothing Rita had said, nor anyone had told me about her, remotely suggested that the first or second of those was a factor, which left me with the third. Was Father Adrian’s reputation deserved, or was I just letting my overactive imagination run amok?
‘One question, though,’ Plum was pensive as we walked back through the streets. ‘Where does The Wizard of Oz come in?’
Chapter Twenty-eight
Coming out of Bowers’ office, I stopped by at Denny’s old desk and searched through his in-tray for the folder detailing the mystery person’s visit. Operation Beagle, it was called — named after Bowers’ dog, I supposed. Sweet, Sonia would have said. Now I saw the schedule for the first time. Whoever this VIP was, he or she was to be in Charnford for three full days and was timetabled for the usual grip-and-grin type visits. Just a few lines in, I was thinking ‘politician’, though hard to say of which persuasion. The venues were pretty eclectic, from an old people’s home and a school, to the police headquarters itself. Essentially, it appeared that Denny’s role was to be the driver — hardly the high profile job that the superintendent had indicated. Seeing it set out in black and white, it was hard to understand why he’d insisted I give up my other work. Most of the visits were self-explanatory and our guest would be staying at a five-star hotel a little way out of town. If I was going to drive him or her there, I’d need to find out where it was.
Bowers had been right in that Denny had done all the hard, preparatory work negotiating the timings, leaving the schedule complete but for a short ‘to do’ list. Using this, I made a couple of calls to the contacts he’d established to ensure that things were in place and to confirm times for the visit. If my first call to the Fletcher Lane seniors’ residence was anything to go by, this VIP was in for a thrilling time. The various establishments had, however, come up with the kind of data that Denny had requested. For instance, I could see that when he or she came to Fulford Road, local councillors and community leaders had been invited along to discuss the crime prevention plan and how that was going. In the file was a report marked, unnecessarily, it seemed to me, Strictly Confidential, which seemed to contain nothing more than a compilation of crime figures for the year along with costings relating to the annual budget. I skimmed the first few pages, suppressed a yawn and tucked it back into the file. Bowers was no longer around — I’d seen him go out shortly after our chat — so it meant that I could get back to doing what I wanted.
* * *
Jodie Marshall had lived at 12 Church Road and her neighbour, Tracy Carrick, still lived next door. I drove to the small complex of apartments and rang the doorbell of number 14.
‘Who is it?’
I held my ID up to the peephole. ‘Miss Carrick? It’s PC Mick Fraser. I called you about Jodie.’
Tracy Carrick was about forty, slim and willowy, with long, dark hair. She came to the door in jeans and a T-shirt and was barefoot. On a day that hadn’t yet seen the sun, and was unlikely to any time soon, she
was wearing sunglasses. Feeling fragile after a heavy night, perhaps. She invited me in. Her deliberate progress along the short hallway, occasionally relying on the walls for support, seemed to confirm it. We arrived in a small, neat lounge with a galley kitchen off to the side.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ I said. ‘I won’t keep you very long.’
‘Do you mind if I do? I’m gasping.’ So, definitely a rough night.
‘I understand that you were the one to find Jodie.’ I ran through the notes as she headed for the kitchen to make the coffee. ‘That must have been upsetting.’
‘It was. We had keys to each other’s flats, so when I couldn’t reach her that morning, I just went in. To begin with, I thought she had collapsed. But then I found Rory . . .’
‘She had a child?’
Tracy came back into the lounge with the same cautious gait and lowered herself into the seat opposite me.
‘No, Rory was her dog. There was quite a smell. I think the poor animal must have lost control of his bladder. Fear, I suppose. He must have been terrified and distraught that he couldn’t protect Jodie. That was when I realised something dreadful had happened.’
‘Did you have any thoughts about who might have wanted to do that to Jodie?’
‘No. Your colleagues at the time were pretty certain that it was just a random opportunistic burglary gone wrong, someone after drug money most likely. Jodie used to suffer terribly with migraines, so she sometimes went to bed quite early. It’s possible that whoever broke in thought there was no one at home.’
‘But what about Rory? Wouldn’t he have reacted?’
‘Rory was getting old, and he was going a bit deaf. Jodie should have let him go, but they’d been together a long time and she didn’t want to part with him.’
The Truth About Murder Page 15
