Dead Feint Page 19
“What the hell were you thinking of, leaving your car at the station? Did you not stop to think about how exposed you were?” He paced up and down as he fired his shots at me.
“I can’t stay in the car all the time?”
“You can at least make sure you use it as much as possible. Where did you go anyway?”
“What does that matter?” The last thing I wanted was to let him know of my visit to John Farrow and provoke him into a diatribe about my interfering in police matters. That would just be adding fuel to the fire.
“It matters because someone may have been looking out for you. And knowing where you were and when could help us check around and learn who else was in those areas.”
“I went over to The Fairview to see Karen.”
“Was that after you left the station?”
“Yes.
“How long did you stay?”
“Not long. She was busy.”
“And then where did you go?”
I considered telling him I went straight home. But I knew he would question the timing and know it wasn’t true. I’d have to try something else instead.
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “I just went for a wander around.”
He stopped his pacing, turned and stared at me, frozen in place, his eyes hard and cold. There was a long silence while the world held its breath.
And then he exploded. “A ‘wander’? You went for a ‘wander’?” He made it sound as if it was an act so outrageous as to be almost unbelievable.
“What can I tell you? It was a nice day. Aren’t I allowed to stroll around and enjoy the weather?”
The look of incredulity on his face was all the answer I needed. He said, “Are you sure you didn’t bang your head as well?”
“Besides,” I said, ignoring the question, “this whole episode has its positive side.”
He spluttered. “Now I know you must have some brain damage. Perhaps I should call the doctor back and have you checked out again.”
“Listen to me. It proves I was right all along. Rusty’s friends are being targeted rather than Rusty himself.”
“And you thought you’d test this theory by wandering around the neighbourhood, trying to provoke an attack. Very clever.”
“Oh please, Nathan. You know that’s not how it was.”
“You are absolutely certain it was a deliberate act? Not just a reckless driver?”
“A balaclava in this heat? The guy was obviously disguised. Yes, I’m certain.”
“Well from now on, I don’t want you wandering off on your own.” He used the term ‘wandering’ as if it was a dirty word. “You stay close to home and use your car when you need to go out.”
I responded with a sarcastic, “Yes, sir.”
Before he could shoot me down again, he was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Lowe entered.
Lowe nodded towards me, and said, “All good, Mikey? The doc give you the all clear?”
“The doc did, yes. The Chief’s not so sure.” I shot Nathan a scornful look and got a withering glare in return.
Lowe looked confused but said nothing.
Fortunately, Nathan now had other concerns to focus on so he let me be for the moment. To Lowe, he said, “Any sightings of the van?”
Lowe’s expression suggested he wasn’t bearing good news. “We found it. In a back road on the other side of town. But it had already been reported stolen. The timing suggests it was taken not long before the attack.”
A sigh of exasperation from Nathan. “Forensics on it?”
“Yes, but I’m not expecting to find anything useful.”
“Well, try anyway.” Nathan glanced at his watch. “And I have to get back to Charwell.” He turned his attention back to me. “And I want you and Naylor staying put. In the meantime, I’ll have the patrols stepped up.” As an afterthought, he added. “Where is Naylor anyway?”
I shrugged. “No idea. I’ve not been here all day.” Just for devilment, I added, “Maybe he went for a stroll.”
That earned me another withering look, and I felt a pang of guilt for winding him up. He had a hard enough job to do without my recalcitrant behaviour. He was looking after my interests after all. And the added burden of coping with Brendon’s suicide attempt didn’t help. I should try to be more supportive.
“Sorry,” I said. “I promise to be good. Whatever you say.”
He answered with a grunt. And then, “Just stay put and rest up for a couple of days.”
“I haven’t finished looking through the files. I could be working on those while I’m laid up.”
“You can see them down at the station.” He turned to Lowe. “Can you pick Mikey up in the morning? I’m going to be tied up in Charwell all day.”
I had hoped to go over to the station that day but I didn’t argue. It wasn’t an argument I would win.
Lowe agreed and said his farewells before heading out to his car.
Nathan was about to follow when I called him back. “Hey.” He turned in the doorway, a quizzical look on his face.
“Just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you. I’m not such an idiot, I don’t know when I’m well off.”
“Is that why you never listen to anything I say?” He shook his head but his tone had softened. “You’re the bane of my life at times.”
I grinned up at him as he turned to leave. “Love you too,” I said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I’d already gone to bed before Rusty returned home that night. So I wasn’t able to bring him up to speed on developments until the following morning. Much as I expected, he didn’t take the news too well.
He sat at the kitchen table, head in hands, a steaming mug of black coffee, untouched, in front of him. I sat in silence across from him and waited until he’d had time to take it in.
The air was rich with the aroma of freshly ground coffee and, in the background, the radio regaled us with a jolly jingle whilst extolling the virtues of a new brand of washing up liquid.
Eventually, Rusty looked up with tired eyes and said, “It’s all getting too much.”
I said, “There’s no reason for you to stay in Elders Edge, you know. You’d probably be much safer back in London. It’s easier to get lost there.”
“That’s what the Chief said. But I figure that’s more about getting shut of me.” He treated me to a feeble grin.
“Then why don’t you?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
“This is my home.”
He bit his lip while he regarded me. And then, “It’s easier here. Easier to draw him out. A small place like this. I want them to get this bastard. I owe it to Candy and Jenna. So I’m going nowhere. This is where I make a stand.” Another weak smile. “Besides, who’s going to look out for you, eh?” The smile faded. “This is all on me. My doing.”
I tried to reassure him he wasn’t to blame. “The killer is responsible. Not you.”
“Even so.”
I nodded my understanding. In his place, I’m not sure I would have wanted to act as a magnet for a killer, but I guessed it was his way of assuaging whatever imagined guilt he felt. And so, perhaps it was best to let it be.
Lowe came by just after lunch and drove me to the station.
I settled down to work in his office and, while he made some calls, I flipped through the forensics report again to make sure I’d taken it all in. A phrase caught my attention as I scanned through it.
Red and yellow.
A thought struck me. A faint glimmer of something I’d missed.
Lowe was still on the phone. I looked up from the file and waited for him to finish his call.
“Do you have the file for the Woodside Cottage theft?” I asked.
“Sure. It’s in the cabinet. What’s the deal with that? You have some thoughts?”
“I just need to know what was taken.”
Lowe looked puzzled, but he fetched the file, anyway. He stood before the open cabinet drawer
and searched through the file.
“Here it is,” he said. He seated himself at his desk with the file in front of him. “All the towels were taken, some cleaning materials, a small rug, and a poker.”
“A poker?” A chill ran down my spine.
“Does seem a strange collection of items. But they’ll take anything these days.”
“What colour was the rug?”
Lowe checked the file again. “No mention of it. Just the manufacturer’s name and the style.” He looked up again. “Why do you need to know?”
I dug into my jean’s pocket and pulled out my mobile. “Give me a sec and I’ll tell you. There’s something I need to check first.” I tapped in Martha Stubbs’ number.
She answered, surprised to receive my call.
“Everything is all right at the cottage?” She sounded concerned.
I assured her that all was well and explained that I was calling in a professional capacity about the theft. “I need to know the colour of the rug that was taken.”
“It was the same as the rug I replaced it with. I got the original from a store in Charwell and they had another one in stock. Why? Has it been found? Have you caught him?”
I had to disappoint her but assured her the police were still working on the case. I finished the call by promising her the police would be in touch as soon as there were any developments.
Lowe was drumming his fingers on his desktop and frowning. “What was that all about?”
“The stolen rug was red and yellow. Same as the one at the cottage. The carpet fibres on Candy Bayliss’s body were red and yellow.”
He stopped his drumming and stared at me long and hard. “You’re not suggesting there’s a connection?”
“You need to ask?”
“Come on, Mikey. Bit of a coincidence isn’t it? You just happen to be living at the murder scene?”
“It makes perfect sense. There’s a logical progression. Think about it.”
The puzzled look suggested his thinking wasn’t getting him very far, so I enlightened him. “The only reason I got the tenancy in the first place was because you learned about the vacancy after receiving the robbery report, right?”
He accepted this.
I continued, “And you said yourself that I was lucky to find somewhere at such short notice during the holiday season.”
“Okay so far. But I still don’t see—”
I interrupted him. “We’re presuming that whoever killed Candy came from outside the area. And whoever that was would have had the same problem. Remember what Martha Stubbs told us? Her last tenant got the place only because she’d had a last-minute cancellation. He and I had been in the same situation. Faced with a limited choice. And that limited choice was the same. Woodside Cottage.”
Lowe stared into space with a glazed look and I waited until he had thought over this information.
“There is one thing you’re forgetting,” he said, “Whoever killed Candy, killed Jenna too - in fact, we know there were two of them - and he or they tried to kill you. So if the killer, or one of the killers, was staying at Woodside Cottage, why didn’t he stay? And where is he now?”
“Why would he want to hang around at the scene of his murder? Far too much of a risk. There’s always the chance of leaving evidence behind. And he hadn’t yet met Martha Stubbs, remember? So she wouldn’t be able to identify him. Far better for him to scarper while the going was good.”
He stared out into space again, a pensive expression on his face, as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind what to think.
“Look,” I said, “what’s the harm in checking it out? You could get the forensics guys to give the cottage the once over. Fingerprints maybe.”
“Wouldn’t have thought there’s much chance of that after all this time. Besides, it’s time-consuming and expensive. Which is why we didn’t bother dusting for prints before. Just not worth it.”
“For the theft of a few items, maybe. But we’re talking murder here. And it’s not been that long. Besides which, there aren’t many prints to eliminate. Me and Rusty. You and the Chief. Karen. Martha Stubbs. And the two electricians who wired up the alarm system. It has to be worth a shot.”
Sometimes, getting Lowe on board was like dragging a dead weight up a steep hill.
Another long pause while he thought this over and then a slow nod. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Finally. So, maybe it wouldn’t move the investigation forward, but anything was better than sitting by and doing nothing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Three days later, a couple of operatives from the forensics team arrived accompanied by Lowe.
Rusty was bemused by the whole idea. “You seriously think this is where Candy was killed?” he said. “It seems a bit far-fetched.”
He leaned back on the couch and looked up at me, his expression a mixture of mirth and scepticism.
Lowe and I were standing in the middle of the room while the forensics guys, smocked and gloved, carried on with their work, one of them dusting the window frame, the other, at my specific request, the brass companion set in the hearth.
I wearied of having to go through my reasoning, yet again, explaining what I considered to be the logical progression of events that brought me to that conclusion. But I was still being met with doubts.
To be fair to Lowe, despite his misgivings, he had agreed to put my theory to the test. He had come down with his team and was directing them to objects that I had suggested may be more likely to yield results.
Even so, he was still baulking at having to carry out the task. “I hope you realise how much fingerprint analysis costs these days. Especially on a limited budget. And then, of course, we still have to obtain the permission of anyone who’s likely to have been here. And this is a holiday cottage after all.”
“And Mrs Stubbs is the finicky type when it comes to cleanliness. So she usually has a thorough clean through before she re-lets.”
“Which means we’re not likely to find any useful prints from before your tenancy.”
I was becoming increasingly exasperated. “I said ‘usually’. She told me herself that she’d not had time for a thorough clean job before I moved in. Which means there’s a high probability of finding prints from the previous tenant but nothing before that.”
Lowe begrudgingly accepted my argument.
I pressed on, still agitated by his negative attitude, and letting it show. “And there’s only been a handful of people here since, most of whom will be more than willing to have their prints taken. The only two I’m not sure about are the electricians who fitted the alarm. But as the alarm is fitted high on the wall and no one else would have touched it, it’s reasonable to presume that any prints on it belong to them and can be used to eliminate any other prints of theirs in other parts of the cottage.”
“Okay, okay, for God’s sake. I hear you.” He was losing his cool.
Rusty sprang up from the couch and joined us. “Hey, come on you guys. We’re all on the same side here.” He took me by the arm.
I acquiesced and drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm my fraying nerves. “Sure we are. Guess the strain’s beginning to show.” I slow-punched Lowe on the chest. “Sorry, Richard. My bad.”
“You and me both,” he said. “Sorry, man.”
“Tell you what, Mikey,” said Rusty, “Why don’t you and me go for a drive. Leave these guys to get on with it. We could both do with a break. We can stop off somewhere for a drink.”
Lowe said, “I wish I could join you.”
I said, “Sounds like a plan. And we’re only in the way here.”
Rusty grabbed his car keys from the coffee table. “We’ll take mine,” he said.
We left the forensics team to their task, overseen by Lowe and, minutes later, we were motoring along the high street towards the edge of town.
“Do me a favour,” said Rusty. “No talk about this whole fucking sorry mess. I just want to get away from it.”
“Good. Then let’s head out to The Partridge at Colten Drey and make a day of it. I hear they do a good pint there.”
They did indeed. It was also where his sister had seemingly met her murderer. But it was probably best not to enlighten him about that for the moment.
We passed the rest of the journey with little talk as we sped on our way. Rusty and I had known each other long enough to enjoy each other’s company in comfortable silence and by the time we pulled into the car park at The Partridge we were both feeling more relaxed.
We ordered pints at the bar, headed out through the back door, drinks in hand, and found ourselves a bench at the far side of the beer garden. We sat in the shade of a large oak that spread its branches over the fence from the roadside beyond.
Rusty gulped down a large mouthful of beer, wiped his hand across his mouth, and made a self-satisfied sound in the back of his throat. “We should be enjoying ourselves in this sort of weather,” he said, “not having to go through this nightmare.”
“Hey. I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”
“Kinda hard not to,” he said. “And after what happened to Jenna, you know, that’s down to me. She didn’t deserve that.”
“You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s actions,” I said. “Though it might be best if you curtailed your social life for a while.” I grinned and added, “Looks like the celibate life for you.”
He leaned towards me, elbows on the table, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Unless I found something nearer to home.”
“Yeah, right. That would do wonders for my relationship.”
He leaned back again, a quizzical look on his face. “Your guy doesn’t like me does he?”
I stiffened. That came out of nowhere. “Nothing to do with you, I assure you.”
“He’s not the jealous type is he?” I opened my mouth to deny it but hesitated. That was all the confirmation he needed. He grinned. “So I’m right. He thinks I’m a threat.”
I tried to put his fears to rest. “No, he doesn’t. I once thought he did, but that’s more to do with my own uncertainties.”