That was interesting. The police might well have the same response.
He kept seeing Monty’s arm draped around Justin’s shoulder. Maybe they’d had an on–off thing ticking along for some time, and Monty had tired of Theo Dimas now and was keen on another relationship. The gay community in Berminster was a small pond to fish in. It was bad enough being dumped and ignored, but if Justin had done it because he was already involved with Monty, that was even worse.
Time to send Mr Shakespeare to recovery. Scott signed off and sent a text to Justin on his break.
If you keep ignoring me, you’ll only make things worse. You don’t just discard love as if it never happened. I miss you so much. We can make a go of things if we really try. I’ve been reading about Lyn Dimas, Theo’s missing wife. They found her body. The evening she vanished, I saw you with Monty Barnwell outside the Flare Bar. There are people who might be interested in that sighting. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you. It’s the last thing I want. If we can just talk, we can sort everything out. You’ve got forty-eight hours to contact me or I might make some phone calls.
He pressed ‘Send’ and bought a carton of fruit juice. If Justin ignored him, he might well do some sharing. He could make calls that would ensure that Justin would end up wishing that he’d not been such a total shit.
Knowing that he could do that, that he could take control for once, knocked the edge off his pain. Justin would find out what it was like to be hung out to dry.
He had no idea that his memories of what he’d seen outside the Flare Bar were leading him to draw both right and wrong conclusions.
* * *
Siv had decided not to speak to Jeff Downey alone. Instead she would take Ali with her. He was waiting for her in the car park eating a muffin, sucking on a cigarette and gazing at a bush of white snowberries.
‘I used to love popping those when I was a kid,’ he said. ‘My dad told me they were deadly poisonous and never to lick my fingers when I’d touched them. I believed him for years, until Polly said it wasn’t true.’
‘Maybe that’s what your dad believed. Maybe his dad told him the same thing.’
Ali shook his head. ‘Nah, it’d be my dad’s idea of a joke. Verbal and practical jokes, his regular comedy turns. It’s just another way of bullying people, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose. Is that why you’re worried and chain-smoking, because of your dad’s jokes?’
‘Nah. I’m at the diabetic clinic tomorrow. Dreading it.’
She didn’t comment on the muffin wrapper because there was no point. He made his own choices. On the way to Downey’s, she went over the brief meeting she’d come from with DCI Mortimer. He’d seemed more emollient than usual.
The sun was low in the sky and she pulled her visor down against the glare. ‘Is Mortimer married?’
Ali loosened his shirt collar. ‘Divorced a couple of years ago. It was bitter, but he kept the yacht, which made his face less like a wet week than usual.’
‘I gathered that he’s interested in sailing from the pictures on his wall, but I wasn’t aware he had a yacht.’
‘Well, it’s more of a big boat but he refers to it as his yacht. It’s a white and blue one called Quicksilver — moored in the harbour. Occasionally, he invites us all on it for drinks. In fact, be warned, there’ll be an invitation coming up soon, because he does an annual Halloween bash. Fancy dress and all. Mortimer gives a prize for best costume — posh bottle of wine.’ He shot her a mischievous grin. ‘Something for you to look forward to.’
Siv’s heart sank. ‘Is the fancy dress compulsory?’
‘Well . . . let’s just say that if you don’t make a bit of an effort, you get a glare that tells you you’ve let the station down.’
‘I suppose Tommy Castles always dressed up.’
‘Oh aye. Tommy was your man for a great costume. The last one before he left, he went as a very scary Count Dracula with fake blood and all. He won the prize.’
‘Of course he did. And you? What do you wear?’
‘I’m from Derry, the Halloween capital of the world, so I’m in my element. I’ve gone as a wolf and a zombie, but my favourite is a banshee.’
‘Isn’t a banshee a female spirit?’
‘Now you’re being picky. Of course, but I reckon spirits can be gender-neutral in these enlightened times. I believe in ghosts.’
She turned to him. ‘Seriously?’
‘Aye, I do. There’s definitely a spirit world. I’ve encountered it from time to time. There was a witch burned near the walls in Derry and I’m sure I heard her wailing one night.’ He hummed under his breath for a few moments. ‘Do you . . . erm . . . I hope you don’t mind me asking . . . Do you ever sense your husband is near?’
She was taken aback, but she found that she didn’t mind the question because it came from him. ‘Quite often. But I don’t believe it’s his spirit. It’s my memory of him, giving him form.’
‘Does it comfort you, when you sense him?’
‘Mostly, but not always.’
He hummed again. ‘Hat-trick loves the Halloween party. He was a vampire bat last time. Noah comes too, usually as a spider covered in cobwebs. I’m a bit worried about him, he seems down and I reckon that’s affecting Patrick.’
‘About anything in particular or just the hand that life’s dealt him?’ Noah had once told her that Patrick shouldn’t have to care for him and he hated being a burden.
‘Not sure. He’s not exactly communicative.’
‘Have you said anything to Patrick?’
‘Haven’t had a chance yet.’
She stared at the road as Ali navigated speed bumps, still unnerved about Halloween. Her team in the Met hadn’t gone in for parties or dressing up — just drowning their tensions in the pub. She wondered if she could have diplomatic flu for the end of October. No, that wouldn’t wash. She’d have to turn up. She felt a ripple of panic and then annoyance with herself. Get over yourself — it’s just a party, not an invitation to an execution. She switched her focus to the coming interview. It would have been handy to have had forensic results before seeing Downey, but it was going to be at least another day until they arrived.
His house was called ‘Dunnitall’ and had fake ivy attached to a trellis growing in a plastic pot by the door.
She fingered the stiff, dusty leaves. ‘Who grows artificial plants in the garden? What’s the point?’
‘Someone who likes fakery? Mind, it’s only like people having that phoney grass.’
Downey was still in his office suit, a grey pinstripe. The top of his head was bald, but he had a circle of gingery hair like a tonsure below it. Just beneath his right eyebrow was a large, distracting mole.
‘Come in, come in,’ he said breezily. ‘Welcome to my humble abode. I’ve just got back from a hard day at the coalface, going through business loan applications and trying to work out who’s telling porkies. No rest for the wicked, eh?’
They sat in his living room. It smelled strongly of the black-and-white dog who was curled up on the sofa. The walls were covered in a bright purple wallpaper and the carpet had a busy orange-and-green floral design. Over the mantelpiece was a garish picture in yellows and pinks, of a bare-breasted Polynesian woman with an enticing smile, holding a mango out to the viewer.
‘Can I get you a hot beverage and a bikky? I’ve some ginger nuts.’ He tapped his head. ‘I’m a ginger nut who eats ginger nuts!’
‘We’re fine, thanks.’ Siv made introductions as Downey sat, pulling up his trousers at the knees. His shoes had shiny patent-leather toecaps.
He flashed them a toothy smile. ‘I follow your DC on Twitter. He tells it like it is. You’ve landed a tough job, trying to find a murderer when the trail’s gone cold. I have great respect for the police, especially when you have to deal with scumbags who do this type of thing.’
‘Who said the trail’s gone cold?’ Siv asked.
‘Well . . . It’s been a while, that’s all I meant
. It’s bloody awful, what happened to poor Lyn. A crying shame. Left in that building like that — I still can’t believe it. She was a lovely neighbour, a good egg. So friendly and kind, always a cheery wave and a smile.’ He sighed nostalgically.
If Downey got any oilier, he’d slither off his chair. Siv said, ‘But not friendly enough to accept your advances, I understand.’
Downey grimaced but the barb slid off him. ‘You’ve read stuff from 2013. I’m sure the gossips had a field day. A man living on his own is always a subject for tittle-tattle. What can I say? I’m a red-blooded male and she was a good-looking woman. Do I have to apologise for fancying her?’
‘No, but tell me about it.’
He had a doughy, pliable face, one moment sad, then wistful, then wearing a little-boy grin. ‘I was on my own and Theo had left. Lyn was very attractive and she was lonely. I wanted to cheer her up and tell her I appreciated her. I took her flowers and asked if she’d like to go out for dinner. She said no.’
‘And that was it?’
‘Absolutely. If she hadn’t disappeared, I’d have left things a while and tried again. Faint heart never won fair lady and all that. But I backed off when she turned me down. She was nice about it, said it was too soon after Theo going. That told me I’d have to pace things and bide my time.’
That made Siv queasy, but he sounded as if he was proud of his tactical skills. ‘What kind of general relationship did you have as neighbours?’
He puffed his cheeks out and laughed. ‘Neighbourly, amazingly enough!’
‘Tell me a bit more. How long had you known the family?’
‘I was living here when they moved in, so about twenty years. My wife was still with me then. We passed the time of day, chatted over the fence, borrowed stuff occasionally . . . the usual things. I’m keen on my barbecues in summer, so they popped round for those sometimes. I was doing a barbie for my family that awful night, as it happens, so I asked Lyn if she fancied coming, but she said no. If she’d come with Adam, she might never have ended up dead in an abandoned building.’
Siv said, ‘What happened to that barbecue in the end?’
His eyes crinkled, glancing from her to Ali. ‘How do you mean?’
All his expressions seemed fluid and exaggerated. She was reminded of Morph, the plasticine model she’d watched on children’s TV, who could change shape randomly. ‘I’ve read that your daughter couldn’t make it.’
‘Oh, I see. That’s right. She had a problem with her car battery. I put the stuff I’d cooked in foil and we ate it the next day, when she came with my grandkids.’ He turned to Ali again. ‘Does the sergeant ever get a chance to talk or have you put him on the naughty step for bad behaviour?’
Ali smiled. ‘Am I bothering you?’
‘Gosh, no! I’m honoured to be visited by two detectives. Always happy to help the police when I can. I almost applied to join the force when I was eighteen, but my mum wanted me to go into banking. She said it would be a safer, steadier occupation. I suppose she was right about safer, although the routine can be stifling, and I’ve always regretted not joining the boys in blue and serving the public.’
Was this guy for real? Ali put a hand over his heart. ‘That’s touching. So, tell me — you say you found Lyn attractive. Had you ever tried anything on with her before her husband left? Given that you’re red-blooded and all.’
Downey adopted a wounded expression. ‘Certainly not! I don’t do infidelity, especially after my wife left me. It only brings heartbreak. It took me years to get over the split. The Dimases always seemed happily married and mad about their kids. I was gobsmacked when I heard Theo batted for the other side. Never saw that coming. Poor old Lyn certainly went through the mill with that.’
‘You never got the idea that she might have been seeing some other red-blooded male?’
‘Lyn having an affair? I never got that impression. Why — has someone told you she was?’
Ali ignored the question. ‘Have you ever had any connection with Steiner’s at Orford End, or have you ever been to the premises?’
‘I’d never heard of the place until I saw the news report about Lyn’s body.’
‘So Lyn never mentioned it to you?’
‘Never.’ Downey smirked at Siv, pointing a thumb at Ali. ‘Crumbs, can’t stop him gabbling now he’s got going.’
‘How many times did you see Lyn the day she went missing?’ Siv asked.
‘Twice. I was in her house that day returning a strimmer, and I saw her outside in the evening while the girls got in the limo.’
‘Did you go out at all that night?’
‘I didn’t. After my daughter rang, I put out the barbie and covered it because rain had been forecast. I folded my apron, stored the cooked food in the fridge, and watched a game show with a plate of bangers. I must have dozed off, because next thing, poor little Adam was banging on the door. Then all hell broke loose. When they said at Smart Mart that they hadn’t seen Lyn, I started dreading that something bad must have happened.’
‘What did you think had happened, when weeks went by and Lyn hadn’t been traced?’
His expression morphed to tragic. ‘I had no idea. Lily said she’d killed herself. I supposed that could have been the case. People do strange things when they’ve had the kind of shock Lyn experienced, with her hubby leaving in that way. At least my wife left me for a chap — not sure how I’d have taken it if she’d gone off with Victoria, not Victor.’
Siv stared at him, wondering about his glib manner. She sensed an unpleasantness under the cheery front, but any further questions eluded her.
‘What a slimy dose he is,’ Ali said once they were back in the car.
‘He plays parts well. I bet he’s the archetypal bank manager at work. The Dimas family say he was a scrounger and a pest. Pests don’t usually give up as easily as he claims he did when Lyn gave him the brush-off.’
‘He’s interesting in an off-kilter way.’ Ali shrugged. ‘Maybe he wears a police uniform in the privacy of his own home. Could he have had a thing going with Lyn the year before Theo moved out?’
‘And then she didn’t want to pick up where they’d left off? Possibly.’
‘He’s no Adonis and she was a pretty woman. Why would she ever have bothered with him?’
‘Need, wanting to be wanted, desperation, he was all that was on offer and he was attentive. Take your pick.’
‘He could have done it, guv.’
‘A spurned man? Certainly. But we have nothing concrete on him, unless forensics provide something.’
‘All the clashing colours in that room gave me a headache. And that painting! He’s got terrible taste.’
‘If having bad taste made you a killer, we’d be arresting half the population.’
Ali sighed and started the engine. Siv watched the glowing sunset, wondering if Downey had once morphed into a murderer.
* * *
Bartel was tapping walls and window frames with his huge roughened hands, lifting corners of carpets and rocking back and forth on floorboards. These narrow houses had been built for smaller Victorians, and he dominated the room, blocking the light. He was wearing a khaki-and-cream body warmer with his jeans tucked into size-fourteen army surplus boots, a paramilitary guise. The estate agent kept giving him dubious glances.
Siv found the inside of the empty house in Wordsworth Road dispiriting and she understood why. Mutsi had trailed her and Rik through a few places like this, pitching temporary camp. It had been divided into bedsits years ago, and it had the forlorn air of a place where joyless, transient lives had been lived. The walls were mainly covered with a rough, dirty white woodchip. All the internal doors had locks and there were odd light fittings with dangling cords. A pocked dartboard hung on the wall of the upstairs room they were examining. She glanced out of the back window and saw a long, narrow garden filled with weeds, bins, burst rubbish bags, rusting ladders and bikes, an abandoned avocado-green toilet, an old-fashioned, high pram
which might be worth a bit if it was reclaimed, and a life-size cardboard Wonder Woman.
‘Can I see the loft?’ Bartel asked. He wasn’t at all fazed by the state of the place.
The agent was Violet Finch — ‘Call me Vi’ — a middle-aged, nervy woman. She eyed the landing ceiling without much hope. ‘I’ve no idea if there’s a ladder, I’m afraid.’
‘No problem.’ Bartel seized a chair from a room, stood it under the loft door and climbed up. He pushed at the rectangle above and it slowly shifted, revealing the end of a ladder. When he pulled it down, the air filled with a cold, fusty smell, clouds of dust and flakes of insulating foam. He took a torch from his pocket and headed up.
‘Please be careful, sir!’ Vi fluttered her fingers anxiously.
‘It’s okay, he works on roofs,’ Siv said. They watched the ladder shake as Bartel’s huge boots clamped on the rungs.
The agent leaned back against a patch of damp woodchip, then pointed at her. ‘I saw you on the news. A report about the body found at Steiner’s.’
‘That’s right. I’m a detective.’
‘Dreadful thing. I’m amazed that place ever sold, but it’s a disgrace that it was left to rot for so long. It was on our books for two years and there was only one sniff.’
‘You’ve been in there?’
‘Just the once, when I showed a prospective buyer around.’
‘When was that?’
‘I’m not sure. Quite a while ago.’
It occurred to Siv that this was an avenue they hadn’t yet considered, and she was annoyed at herself. Scoping the background in a case like this was crucial. She still had lapses of concentration when her brain was foggy, and she lived with an undercurrent of worry that she’d miss something important. Ali was one hundred per cent dependable and thorough, but not a self-starter, and although Patrick had his moments, he often seemed distracted and she didn’t entirely trust him. She listened to the ceiling vibrate as Bartel tramped above. ‘Do you remember who the buyer was?’
NEVER CAME HOME an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 2) Page 17