EIGHTEEN
Matt lay in bed listening to the noises, the scraping and thumps that seemed to come from the ceiling above him. He glanced at the glowing red numbers of his alarm clock. Twenty past midnight.
Before he’d put the light out he’d lain there on his back, staring at the cracks on the dirty white ceiling. Those cracks certainly seemed to have grown since he’d looked up at them the previous night. It was as if something was up there, weighing on the joists. And he hardly liked to think what that something could be.
He knew Jason and Caro had heard the sounds too but Jason made a joke of it, saying that it was old Obediah come back to haunt the place. Caro dismissed it as sounds from next door. But the Quillans didn’t seem the type to be shifting things around in the loft at midnight. Jackie Quillan looked like the sort of woman who’d panic if she broke a nail. And Rory always looked clean and immaculate. Besides, the activity wasn’t in their loft. It was directly above Matt’s room.
Matt had found George Merryweather’s visit earlier that day reassuring and the fact that Caro and Jason hadn’t been in had come as a relief. The last thing he’d needed was their scepticism. He hadn’t really known what to expect when George did his bit; thunder and lightning, green vomit, screaming spectres or nothing at all. The reality had been closer to the latter but he did feel that the place seemed a little less hostile now. Or maybe that was just his imagination.
He recalled the prayer George had recited. Visit this place, oh Lord, and drive from it the snares of the enemy. He liked those words, ‘snares of the enemy’. Number thirteen seemed full of them. But he wasn’t quite sure whether the enemy in question was spirit or flesh and blood.
The noises were louder now as though something was being dragged across the ceiling above him. Matt covered his ears with his pillow but he could still hear it . . . shuffling and speaking in wordless whispers. Was it old Obediah in eternal torment, dragging the corpses of his victims across the floor? Or was it the dead clawing their way out of purgatory? He slipped beneath the duvet and shut his eyes tight, trying to summon the courage to get up and go downstairs. But that’s where it had happened so maybe the terror would be even stronger down there.
He heard a crack, almost like a muffled gunshot, and he peeped out from the duvet, lying quite still. Something was in the room with him. Something unpleasant.
As he began to wriggle one hand towards the bedside light, there was a loud crash and something heavy hit the bed.
He jerked his body up and scrabbled for the light, and as his hand hit the switch the lamp fell over and lay on its side, its feeble bulb illuminating the scene. Above him through billowing clouds of dust he could see a yawning black hole in the ceiling. And he knew that someone or something was moving up there.
Then his eyes travelled down to the bed where a black bin bag lay, grey with powdery dust, weighing down his lower leg. The bag had split open and he could see something inside. Something that looked like matted hair.
Matt opened his mouth to call out but instead the sudden intake of dust into his lungs made him cough uncontrollably. He pulled his legs from under the bag and covered his mouth but the movement caused the bag to shift and the black plastic opened wider to reveal the thing inside.
He stared, horrified, at the mummified head with long, dusty brown hair clinging to the skull and brittle, desiccated flesh pulled back to show a set of grinning teeth.
Then he leapt from the bed and rushed out on to the landing as if the devil himself was after him, unaware of the murmuring voices in the roof space above.
Joe was asleep when the phone by his bed rang just before one in the morning. He had been dreaming about Kirsten. He had come across her body in undergrowth. She had been stabbed and her tongue had been hacked out like Pet Ferribie’s, silencing her accusations for ever. While he had been bending over her body her eyes had flicked open and she had sat up, staring at him with dumb hatred. Then a fire alarm had gone off somewhere and he’d woken up to realize that it was the telephone. For once he was glad to have his sleep disturbed. It hadn’t been a good dream.
It was Emily. She sounded as tired as he felt. ‘A body’s been found at thirteen Torland Place.’
Joe sat up, suddenly wide awake. ‘One of the students?’
There was a pause. ‘You’re not going to believe this, Joe, but a bin bag containing a mummified body has just fallen through the ceiling in Matt Bawtry’s room. Frightened the life out of the poor lad.’
Joe swore softly under his breath. He knew student houses could be pretty unsanitary but desiccated corpses in the attic seemed to be taking things a bit far.
‘I’ve said we’d get down there,’ Emily continued. ‘Apparently the students are in a bit of a state.’
‘Any idea who the corpse is?’
‘Not yet. But the attic was sealed off on the students’ side and the party wall up there had been partially knocked through. Next door were using it to store God knows what . . . including mummified corpses.’
‘There’s more than one?’
‘They’re still conducting a search. They’ve arrested the couple next door, by the way. The Quillans.’
‘Then we’d better have a word with them.’ Joe yawned. The initial rush of adrenalin was wearing off but he forced himself out of bed and stumbled towards the chair where his clothes lay in an untidy heap, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reached for his trousers.
‘And there’s something else. A black BMW was spotted driving away from the Quillan’s. All the traffic cameras in the area are being checked to see if we can get the registration number. A patrol car’s coming round to get you in ten minutes so get your clothes on. And Joe . . .’
‘What?’
‘Doesn’t Barrington Jenks drive a black BMW?’
Joe didn’t answer. He was too busy buttoning up his shirt.
Both thirteen and fifteen Torland Place had been sealed off with police tape and when Joe arrived the scene was alive with activity.
When Emily met him at the door to number thirteen, she informed him that the Quillans were still next door under the guard of a couple of uniformed constables. She’d considered having them taken to the police station but she reckoned that they might be more talkative if they were there on the scene with the incontrovertible evidence. The students, too, were still in number thirteen, huddled together in the living room as if for comfort.
Joe made straight for the living room with Emily following behind. Matt, Caro and Jason were sitting around the table in their dressing gowns, empty mugs in front of them.
‘I’ll put the kettle on again,’ Caro said, making for the kitchen.
Matt gave her a grateful nod. He looked as if he was in shock and Joe reckoned he needed something stronger than tea.
It was Jason who spoke first. ‘So who was our unwelcome housemate?’
‘We can’t say for sure yet,’ Joe replied. ‘But whoever it is, she’s been up there quite a while.’
Matt had been staring at his mug but he suddenly looked up. ‘She?’
‘According to our doctor it’s a female. Probably an adolescent girl.’ Emily caught Joe’s eye. It was only a matter of time before the body was identified officially by dental records and what was left of the ragged clothing. But in the meantime, they were pretty sure of the dead girl’s identity.
Caro brought the tea in on a stained plastic tray and Joe watched her, waiting for a suitable moment to begin the questioning.
‘What can you tell us about your next door neighbours?’ Joe asked once they had the steaming mugs in front of them.
‘Not much,’ said Caro. ‘We called a couple of times to ask when to put the bins out and that sort of thing.’
‘And we took a parcel in for them once,’ Jason chipped in. ‘They seemed quite . . . Well, I don’t know if normal’s the word. There was something a bit weird about them.’
Joe nodded. But he doubted if Jason would have delivered that verdict if the Quillans had proved to be upright citizens who didn’t keep mummified corpses in attics. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.
‘Well at least I know what the noises up in the loft were now,’ said Matt quietly. ‘I feel a bit stupid now . . . thinking it was . . .’
‘The ghost of old Obediah Shrowton,’ said Jason with a sneer. ‘Really, Matt, you’re so easy to wind up. Hang on, maybe the body belongs to one of his victims . . . one that was never found,’ he added, his eyes glowing with mischievous enjoyment.
Matt took a sip from the mug Caro had just placed in front of him. ‘Well he did kill those people in here. You can’t deny that.’
Joe stood up. If the students wanted to start an argument, that was none of his concern. He looked at Emily who was listening in silence. She gave a slight nod. ‘Right. We’ll take a look upstairs,’ he said. ‘Has anybody told Cassidy about this? He’ll need to know about the damage to his property.’
‘We thought we’d tell him tomorrow,’ said Caro.
Matt looked at Joe. ‘That person dressed as the Grim Reaper . . . could it have been Quillan from next door?’
‘We’ll ask him,’ Joe said before leaving the room and making his way upstairs. Emily followed him, hanging back as though she was afraid of what she’d see there.
When they reached the top of the stairs they saw Matt’s door standing open and the unnaturally bright temporary lighting gave the scene inside the look of a stage filled with actors. The crime scene team were going about their business with quiet efficiency and in the calm centre of the action Sally Sharpe was bending over something on the bed. When she heard Joe’s voice she swung round.
‘Come and have a look.’
When Joe and Emily entered the room Joe noticed an aluminium ladder stretched upwards to a large jagged hole in the ceiling. The room was blanketed with dust and debris and a pair of dusty suitcases lay at a drunken angle on the floor at the end of the bed. They must have come down with the body, Joe thought as he stared at the thing on the bed.
He had seen mummified bodies from ancient Egypt in various museums during the course of his life but this one was different. Parchment skin and scraps of grey clothing clung to bones but the worst thing was the head, the empty eyes and the drawn back lips below the matted mess of hair. If it weren’t for the head, the body would have looked like a bundle of rags. The head made it human.
‘Any idea of the cause of death?’ Emily asked.
Sally considered her answer while the police photographer began to ascend the ladder to get a few shots of the attic. ‘My first impression is that she probably died of a head injury. Here.’ She pushed aside some of the matted hair with a gloved hand. There was certainly a wound there. ‘The conditions up there in the attic caused the mummification. Dry heat. She was probably near the hot water tank.’
‘In a bin bag?’
‘No. She’s been put in that very recently. I’ll do the post-mortem tomorrow. You’re keeping me busy, Joe,’ she added, with what could have been a wink. But he was too tired and preoccupied to notice for sure.
He felt Emily nudge his arm. ‘Let’s go and see what the Quillans have to say for themselves.’
They left number thirteen and made for next door, still wearing their crime scene suits. Emily had always claimed that she resembled a snowman in hers and Joe wondered whether she’d have made a more imposing chief investigating officer if she took it off. But he said nothing.
The Quillans had been separated on Emily’s orders and they found Rory Quillan in the lounge perched on the edge of the sofa, looking far from comfortable. He wore jeans and an old, torn T-shirt and his clothes were covered in dust.’
‘The woman’s in the kitchen,’ Emily whispered as they peeped round the door. ‘Who do you want to start with?’
‘Ladies first, I think.’
They made their way to the kitchen where Jackie Quillan was sitting at the glass breakfast table. Like Rory, she was fully dressed in what Joe’s father would have described as ‘gardening clothes’; torn jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. Her clothes too were covered in a layer of dust and debris, as was her hair.
‘You look as if you could do with a bath,’ said Emily as she sat down on one of the neighbouring chairs. ‘Been up in the attic, have you?’
Jackie looked away. ‘That attic hasn’t been cleaned out since Rory’s uncle lived here. We’d no idea what was up there.’
Emily leaned forward and put her face close to the woman’s. ‘Liar. You knew exactly what was up there. That’s why you’ve been searching up there for the past week or so. The students next door have told us about the noises from the loft. There’s a big gap in the party wall between the two loft spaces and you used next door’s attic to hide the body. Handy that it was sealed off from the students’ side so they couldn’t take it into their heads to have a nose about.’
‘We didn’t do that. It was Rory’s uncle Norman. He owned both houses at one time. You ask Rory.’
‘Rory spent a lot of time here in Uncle Norman’s day, didn’t he?’
‘So?’ Jackie pushed her hair back from her face with a grubby hand.
‘Tell us what happened tonight?’
‘We decided it was time we cleared out the loft and when we moved a load of cases we saw it there in a bin bag. Rory must have stepped back with the shock and then the whole lot went through the ceiling. It’s got nothing to do with us. We’re as shocked as anybody.’
‘Funny time to clear out a loft.’
‘We’re both at work during the day and neither of us go to bed early so . . .’
Her story seemed to make sense but Joe suspected that it was a lie. ‘Only our pathologist reckons the body’s only just been put in that bin bag. Hoping to get rid of it, were you?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Mind if I have a look upstairs?’
Jackie looked at him. ‘We haven’t got any other bodies hidden around the place if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Emily gave him a nod and he marched out of the room and made his way upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. He had a quick look in each room, flicking through wardrobes and opening drawers and by the time he’d finished he reckoned he’d seen everything he needed to see.
When he returned to the landing his eyes were drawn to the loft entrance. The hatch was open and Joe mounted the ladder and poked his head up into the roof space. The light was on and he could see that the loft of number fifteen was filled with neatly stacked boxes, suitcases and small items of unwanted furniture.
Through a gaping hole in the wall separating number fifteen’s loft from next door’s he could see a couple of crime scene officers working carefully under the lights they’d set up. The neighbouring loft looked dirty and cluttered. And it seemed odd that anybody in the Quillans’ position should take any interest in it. Surely the sensible thing to do would be to block up the party wall again. Unless there was a good reason not to. Unless the Quillans knew there was something in there that had to be disposed of.
He returned to the kitchen and sat beside Emily, giving Jackie Quillan a businesslike smile. ‘I see you and Rory don’t share a bedroom.’
‘So?’ She was suddenly on the defensive. But if she thought he was prying into her private life that was hardly surprising.
‘Rory’s not your husband, is he?’
‘He’s my partner. We’re not married.’
He saw Emily give him a questioning look. ‘An arrangement of convenience, is it?’
‘No. I . . .’
‘What is it you do, Jackie?’
‘I work in Nebula. It’s a boutique near Coopergate.’
‘And Rory?’
‘He works for the local council. Housing office. Why?’
‘How long have you been together?’
She suddenly looked wary. ‘Must be about twelve years.’
‘You must have been very young when you got together.’
‘Childhood sweethearts, that’s us. Now if you’ve finished, I need a shower.’
‘We won’t keep you much longer. I’ve seen you recently on CCTV.’
There was no mistaking it, she looked uncomfortable.
‘A man thought he’d seen his long-lost daughter in Coopergate and he called us. We found CCTV footage of the area at the time he said he saw her and you were on it. Why did you change your name, Jade?’
He glanced at Emily and saw her mouth open and close as though she was about to say something then thought better of it.
‘My name’s Jackie.’
‘Then you wouldn’t mind doing a DNA test. Just a mouth swab. It doesn’t hurt.’
As Jackie stood up the chair legs scraped loudly on the floor. ‘No. Piss off. I’m not going on any DNA register.’
‘What happened to Nerys, Jade?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Did you kill her?’
‘No.’
‘Why is Rory’s wardrobe full of women’s clothes?’
She suddenly looked shocked, then she rearranged her features into a bored expression. ‘They’re mine. I need more wardrobe space than him so I’ve taken over some of his.’
‘So how come they’re three sizes bigger than the ones in your wardrobe?’
There was a pause while she considered her reply. ‘I’ve lost weight,’ she said, gnawing at her fingernails. ‘I was ill and I lost weight.’
‘They’re too long for you as well. I’d say they belong to someone a lot taller.’
Emily caught on quickly. She cautioned the woman and told her they were going to take her in for questioning.
Joe only hoped he had it right. If not he would probably make an almighty fool of himself. As Jackie was being led away by a policewoman, he began to walk towards the lounge. It was about time they heard what Rory Quillan had to say for himself.
Quillan stood up as he entered the room, Emily hovering behind him. She was leaving this one to him and he knew if he was wrong he’d have to take the flak.
‘Hello, Jasmine,’ he said as he sat down in the leather armchair.
Rory Quillan put his head in his hands and began to cry.
Emily arrived home at three in the morning, knowing that if she didn’t get a few hours of sleep she wouldn’t be in any fit state to sort out the Dead Man’s Wood case the next day. And she’d need all her wits about her if she was to get Barrington Jenks to tell the truth.
Jeff had been asleep when she’d got in and, as it was Saturday, she left him in bed and got dressed as quietly as possible. As she looked at him lying there, hiding his head beneath the duvet, she felt a pang of guilt at abandoning him to see to the kids single handed again. Maybe Joe had it right and police work demanded a semi-monastic existence. But something told her that Joe too longed for the comfort of what passed for domestic bliss in the twenty-first century. Only for some reason it always seemed to elude him.
At eight thirty she arrived at the police station and gathered the team in the incident room for the morning briefing. The big news was that Jackie and Rory Quillan were waiting in the cells to be questioned about the body found at Torland Place. But, to her disappointment, there was no more news concerning the more urgent matter – the deaths she had started to refer to as the Grim Reaper murders for want of any better label. The killer was out there and there was every reason to suspect that he would strike again.
Sharon Bell had died years before, as had Roni Jasper. And Joe was convinced that Cassidy’s sister, Grace, was killed by the same person. Cassidy had been convicted of that particular murder and he had known Sharon, Pet and Anna. All they needed now was solid evidence to put him away again. Surely it would only be a matter of time.
She looked around for Joe but he wasn’t there and she was relieved when he appeared, creeping into the incident room with his coat over his arm like a naughty schoolboy trying to creep past the teacher to avoid a late mark.
He saw her and smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, boss. I overslept. Anything new come in?’
But before she could speak she was interrupted by Sunny.
‘News, ma’am. Traffic camera picked up a black BMW speeding away from Bearsley at twelve forty-five last night and it’s registered to one Barrington Jenks. Want me to pick him up?’ he asked with a grin that verged on the wicked.
‘No,’ said Emily quickly. ‘I’d better deal with it.’
Sunny strode off muttering something about friends in high places just as the phone rang on Emily’s desk.
After a brief conversation, she looked up at Joe, a triumphant smile on her face. ‘Rory Quillan wants to make a statement. He wants to tell us everything.’
Zepper’s conscience had kept him awake all night. Pet had trusted him, confided in him. But had he betrayed that trust?
He climbed out of bed, standing naked on the well-worn rug. Pet had been so lovely and he had wanted her . . . just as he had wanted Grace Cassidy all those years ago. Pet had reminded him so much of Grace. And now both girls were dead.
He slipped on his towelling dressing gown and walked into the living room, the polished wooden floor cool beneath his feet. It was Saturday, a full week since he’d taken part in the Early Music Festival. A full week since he’d last seen Pet Ferribie alive, gazing up at him as he performed on that outdoor stage. Somehow it seemed so much longer.
Pet’s little pink notebook lay on the coffee table. After making himself a coffee to wake himself up, Zepper opened it. He needed to read it again before he made a decision.
Once he was satisfied that there was nothing in there that might incriminate him, he picked up the phone and dialled the number for Joe Plantagenet’s direct line.
‘Zepper’s coming in to make a statement,’ Joe announced as he and Emily were walking down the corridor to the interview room where Rory Quillan was waiting for them.
Joe saw Emily’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Voluntarily?’
‘Voluntarily. But he wants his solicitor present. He said he has a notebook Pet Ferribie left at the university.’
‘So why hasn’t he told us all this before?’
‘No doubt we’ll find out when he comes in. He says it’s mostly about her search for her mother. There’s a lot in it about someone she refers to as The Great Chef. Paolo Jones, I suspect.’
‘Mr Jones is another person we need to talk to again.’
‘I thought he was being quite open.’
‘Oh come on, Joe, I reckon his relationship with Helen Ferribie was a lot more interesting than he was letting on.’
‘Interesting?’
‘Stormy maybe. Lovers’ quarrels and all that. She left her husband because he was boring and she wanted to become an artist. I reckon she would have been looking for a bit of passion in her life.’ She grinned. ‘As are we all.’
Joe opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. He’d known passion and, in his experience, it only led to pain. Perhaps it had led to pain for Helen Ferribie . . . or even to death.
When they reached the interview room Joe took a deep breath before pushing the door open. As they entered Rory Quillan looked up, his eyes anxious.
‘I want to tell you everything,’ he said.
‘A wise decision,’ said Emily as she sat down.
‘Jackie’s not my wife. In fact we’ve never even . . .’
‘You mean it’s a platonic relationship?’
‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘Tell us how you met.’
‘It was twelve years ago. She was only a kid and she needed help.’ He fell silent for a while but Joe and Emily waited for him to gather his thoughts. ‘I was staying at my uncle’s house. He was away at the time so I had the place to myself. I went out to this bar . . . Anyway, I picked up this bloke . . . some posh estate agent.’ He looked Joe in the eye, challenging him to criticize. ‘That’s how I am . . . how I was made. I’ve always felt more comfortable as a woman and . . .’
‘You’ve never thought of making it permanent . . . having – what do they call it? – gender reassignment?’ Emily asked.
‘That takes some courage . . . having operations and all that. It’s not something I’ve been able to face but . . . maybe one day.’
‘What happened on the night you met Jackie?’ Joe knew they were in danger of becoming sidetracked.
‘Like I said, I picked up this bloke in a bar.’
‘Barrington Jenks?’
‘Barry, yes. He was a businessman; an estate agent. Very smart. Nice clothes. Big shiny car. I thought my luck was in.’
‘He said you asked him for money.’
‘I might have asked but I didn’t get it. Events rather overtook us.’
‘Tell us what happened.’
‘We went back to the student house next door to my uncle’s place because the students were away and I had the spare key my uncle had given me in case of emergency. But it was a lovely summer night so we decided to go into the woods. I got hold of a sleeping bag and . . . It seemed exciting; a little bit dangerous. Anyway, we were . . . when we heard this sound; a bit like sobbing. I said to Barry we should check to see if there was someone there. He was very worried about people finding out, you see – said he was married and had a lot to lose. Anyway, we got ourselves dressed and followed the sound. We got to this clearing and saw this girl lying on the ground. Another girl was bending over her sobbing. She got the shock of her life when she saw us. I rushed over to see if the girl was OK but Barry held back because he didn’t want to get involved. I was in women’s clothes and I guess the girl was a bit taken aback – or even scared thinking she’d met a pervert in the woods. Or at least that’s what she told me later. Anyway, the girl on the ground wasn’t breathing and there was blood on her head.’
‘She was dead?’
‘Yes. I asked the girl what had happened and she kept saying she’d killed her. I asked her why and she said she had to stop her. Barry said he had to go. He was scared stiff and he kept saying he couldn’t afford anyone to find out. I told him to get the police and the ambulance and when he rushed off I thought that’s what he was doing. Anyway, I took Jackie back to the house to wait but it turned out that Barry had buggered off and the police never came. Then I started to have second thoughts. Jackie was in a real state and she kept insisting that it had been an accident.’
‘I thought she’d confessed to killing her.’
‘Yes, but she was really upset and she wasn’t thinking straight. She pleaded with me not to call the police but I didn’t know what else to do.
‘Did she say how this accident happened?’
‘She said they’d been messing about and the other girl fell and hit her head.’
‘What about her claim that she had to stop her doing something? What did she say about that?’
‘Nothing. And I didn’t ask. I just assumed she wanted to stop her getting hurt . . . I don’t know.’
‘What did she tell you about the dead girl?’
‘Only that her name was Nerys and she was a friend from school. She seemed very upset at first but then she came to her senses, like someone had flicked on a switch. She said she couldn’t face it if the police started asking her questions and she couldn’t face going home. She said that if we hid Nerys’s body nobody would know. It was a stupid thing to do but I went along with it. I got a wheelbarrow from my uncle’s garden and we took Nerys back to number fifteen. Then I thought of the loft. Nobody ever went up there and it’d give us time to think of what to do. I knew my uncle had sealed off the loft hatch next door because some bricks were missing in the party wall and you could get through to his loft that way. He said he didn’t want the students getting up there and into his house. He was paranoid like that. We put Nerys at the far end of the loft next to the water tank hidden behind some old trunks, well away from number fifteen and we left her there.’ He buried his head in his hands. ‘I’m so sorry. It was a dreadful thing to do but . . .’
‘And Jackie moved in with you?’
‘She said she was in trouble and that she could never go back home because something terrible had happened. I let her stay in my flat and it just became a habit. Then, when I moved into my uncle’s place, she moved with me. We never mentioned Nerys lying up there in the loft. It was as if we’d put her out of our heads. Blanked it out of our memories.’ He hesitated. ‘What’ll happen to us?’
‘That depends on how exactly Nerys died.’
‘She said it was an accident.’ Tears began to stream down his cheeks. ‘And I believe her.’
‘What about Barry?’
‘What about him?’
‘You’ve kept in touch?’
Rory’s moist cheeks turned red. ‘That was Jackie’s idea. After a couple of years we kept seeing his face on election posters – your parliamentary candidate. Whiter than white. Big house and wife with a plastic smile. Jackie said he was a smug bastard and if only people knew what he really got up to. She made me contact him again . . . ask for money to keep quiet. Then we met up again a few days ago in a hotel. He paid up quite happily. Honest.’
‘And he helped you move the body?’
‘When that girl next door got murdered, me and Jackie thought things were getting a bit hot. What if the police decided to break into the loft and search it? We asked Barry to help us with the move. We needed a bigger car to move her cause I’ve only got a little Fiat and I reckoned he owed it to us. We had to put her in a bin bag so she wouldn’t make a mess all over his precious boot.’
‘And I bet you threatened to go to the press.’
‘Jackie did. It was all her idea. Everything.’
It was an old story, one that Joe and Emily had heard so many times before.
Zepper felt nervous as he was led into the interview room by a young female PC. But he had time to notice that she had very good legs. Out of uniform she’d be a stunner.
Once she’d left him he was kept waiting in that uncomfortable chair for what seemed like an age. But he supposed it was just another police tactic. Psychological warfare.
By the time DI Plantagenet entered the room, Zepper was starting to regret his decision. But Pet’s little pink notebook sat there on the desk before him. If he played the cooperative citizen now, he’d be home and dry.
Plantagenet was with a young Asian woman, the sensible type but quite attractive. Zepper gave her a smile to establish a rapport. She didn’t smile back.
The first thing the DI asked him was why he hadn’t come forward sooner. He had his answer ready.
‘I only found it yesterday. She’d left it in my room at the Music Department and it must have got hidden under a load of papers.’ There was no way he was going to admit that he’d found it a couple of days ago and hung on to it so that he could see what, if anything, she’d written about him.
‘Do you know what kissing the demons means?’ the inspector asked as he finished flicking through the book.
‘Pet used the phrase from time to time. She said it was something her mother liked to do. I presume it means doing something dangerous . . . taking a risk. Or maybe doing something forbidden. Your guess is as good as mine.’
Joe nodded. Den Harvey had used the title for the computer file hiding his secret stash of porn, which certainly fitted Zepper’s interpretation. Something risky. Something taboo.
‘A man called “The Great Chef” features quite a lot.’ Zepper leaned back, more confident now the spotlight was focused elsewhere. ‘She thought he knew what had happened to her mother. In fact she suggests that he might even have killed her. Any idea who he is?’
The inspector didn’t answer the question.
‘There’s also “the landlord” – I presume that’s Andy Cassidy.’
‘Any idea who “the slob” is?’
Zepper shook his head but Joe thought he knew the slob’s identity. Cassidy had used the word to describe Den Harvey.
‘I presume you’re “The Tutor”. Very flattering some of this . . . suggests she’d like to – how does she put it? – explore new possibilities. And she says she wants to lose what has become burdensome to her.’ Joe looked Zepper in the eye. ‘Does that mean her virginity, do you think?’
Zepper nodded.
‘And she mentions someone called “Suit Man”. Says her mother might have gone to him before she disappeared. Know who he is?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Cassidy thinks you killed his sister.’
‘There’s no way I’d ever have harmed Grace.’
‘But she was under-age and you were sleeping with her. Did Cassidy find out? Is that why you killed her and got him locked up? And what about Pet? I bet she was a tease. I bet she drove you mad blowing hot and cold.’
Zepper felt a sudden pain in his chest. The room began to spin around and he heard blood rushing in his ear. He clutched at his shirt. It was too tight. Crushing him as he slid off the chair and landed heavily on the floor. Then he heard a loud alarm as the inspector hit the panic strip that ran around the walls.
Then he heard nothing more until a young nurse in intensive care asked him if he was comfortable.
‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ Joe stood in the doorway of Emily’s office.
‘Start with the bad news. I always like to get it out of the way.’
‘Zepper’s had a suspected heart attack . . . when I was questioning him.’
‘Bloody hell. Hope he’s not going to accuse you of police brutality. How is he?’
‘Don’t know yet. They’ve taken him straight to hospital.’ He paused. ‘Just when it was starting to look promising. He brought in a notebook belonging to Pet Ferribie – said he found it under some papers in his office, not that I believe that for a second. It’s mostly notes she made about her mother’s disappearance. I think Pet had a close relationship with Zepper . . . just like Grace Cassidy did.’
‘She was a virgin.’
‘So it was only a matter of time.’
‘He hasn’t got much of an alibi. But did he kill Sharon Bell and Roni Jasper? And what about Anna Padowski?’
Joe shrugged. Somehow he wasn’t convinced. Zepper might have seduced his fifteen-year-old student. He might even have killed her to shut her up when she threatened to tell her father what had been going on. Maybe Pet too was becoming a nuisance. But Joe couldn’t really see him killing Sharon and Anna in cold blood. That would take a different sort of monster. A demon.
‘According to the notebook, Pet thought Paolo Jones had something to do with her mother’s disappearance. But I don’t see it myself.’
‘Always keep an open mind, Joe,’ Emily said with a small smile that verged on the smug. ‘Anyway, it’s time I had a word with Jade Portright – or Jackie as she likes to call herself these days. I’ll take Jamilla with me – the woman to woman approach.’
‘It’ll be interesting to see whether she confirms Rory’s version of events. Do you believe him?’
‘Yes. I think I do.’
Sunny poked his head round the door. ‘Jenks has been picked up, ma’am. He’s on his way in with his lawyer in tow.’
‘There’s something I need to do before we talk to him,’ said Joe.
Emily gave him an enquiring look.
‘Got the number of the House of Commons?’ he said lightly as he left the office.
After a few phone calls he found out what he needed to know. Barrington Jenks had taken part in a parliamentary debate on the night Roni Jasper had died. And it had finished an hour before her estimated time of death.
He sat at his desk, waiting for the call that would tell him Jenks was waiting for him in one of the interview rooms. But when the phone rang he heard Sally Sharpe’s voice.
‘Joe. I’ve had a good look at this mummified body. I know I’m doing the autopsy later but I wondered if you wanted to hear my preliminary thoughts.’
‘I always like to hear your thoughts, Sally.’ Somehow distance was making him feel bolder as far as Sally was concerned. Face to face he always felt a little embarrassed.
‘Well I found some wood splinters embedded in the head wound. I think someone hit her very hard with a lump of wood from behind. Is that any help?’
‘We’ve got a statement that says she had a fall and hit her head.’
‘Crap . . . if you’ll pardon the expression. There’s no way that injury was the result of a fall. Will I see you later?’ It sounded like an invitation to something more pleasant than a date at the mortuary.
‘Probably.’
As soon as he ended the call the phone rang again. Jenks and his solicitor had arrived and had started kicking up hell downstairs.