Vi pursed her lips. ‘It was a man, but I don’t remember his name.’
‘Would you still have records?’
‘Gosh, no idea.’ Vi flinched, as if she wished she’d never mentioned it.
‘I’d like you to find out for me.’
Vi was even more disconsolate when Siv asked her to go to the station for fingerprinting and a DNA swab. ‘You do appreciate that we need to eliminate people from the inquiry. It would be a great help.’
‘Do I have a choice?’ Her mouth turned down.
‘Yes and no. I’d rather you did it voluntarily.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She put an anxious hand to her throat as more dust sprayed from the loft aperture.
Bartel appeared, looming above them in the dark rectangle, the torch illuminating his beard. He resembled a Nordic god, Odin or Thor, or a Viking who’d strayed from his longship. Bartel the Bald.
‘There’s a wasp’s nest,’ he said. He climbed down and gave the ladder a shove, then clapped his hands together so that bits of debris fluttered around. ‘That’ll do.’
Vi gave him a full-beam smile. ‘The owner is open to reasonable offers and I’d say there’s room for negotiation.’
‘There’d need to be,’ Bartel said. ‘It’s not exactly immaculate. A lot of work to do. I’ll be in touch.’
They headed to the Horizon café at Minster Beach for a lunch of mussels and chips, washed down with icy beer. Siv had a great fondness for it, because it was where her father had brought her and Rik for a much-needed dinner on the day they’d arrived to live with him. He’d had only a couple of hours warning of their arrival. Mutsi was heading to Helsinki to marry a baronet who didn’t care for children, and who had spotted that Rikka and Siv spelled trouble. He’d given her an ultimatum of ‘It’s them or me,’ so Mutsi had despatched them on the train from Victoria with a bag each and no money, and phoned their father to say that they were on their way. All we need are labels round our necks saying, ‘Please look after these unwanted kids,’ Rikka had said gloomily. Siv had sighed. At least Paddington had marmalade sandwiches for the journey. In the Horizon café, they’d wolfed fish and chips and double helpings of banana cheesecake. The food had heralded the start of an unexpected, welcome life with proper, regular meals and, best of all, the same house to return to every day.
‘I’ll make an offer on that place,’ Bartel said, ‘but I’ll leave it a couple of days. Make Vi sweat.’
‘You’ve got specks of fibreglass in your right eyebrow from the loft. It needs a load of work.’
‘Hmm. But that doesn’t bother me. It’s sound and the roof’s only fifteen years old.’ He ran a massive finger along his eyebrow. ‘Do you reckon you’ll buy a place here eventually?’
The question alarmed her, made her scalp itch and she was irritated at her reaction. It’s a perfectly reasonable enquiry from a friend, you idiot! ‘Probably,’ she said, her throat dry. ‘I’m fine where I am for now. I can’t plan that far ahead.’
‘No, and you don’t need to. You’re like a wobbly little kitten, finding your feet.’
That made her laugh. ‘I’ve a favour to ask you.’
‘You want me to solve your case, like last time, madame?’ He grinned and dipped a chip in mustard.
‘Will you come to a Halloween party with me on my boss’s boat? Fancy dress.’
He sat back. ‘Mortimer’s throwing a party?’ He was aware of her views about the DCI.
‘Mm. Ali told me it’s an annual thing.’
‘You really want to go?’
She shrugged. ‘No, but I don’t have much choice. It’s expected.’
‘Ah, it’s like that. Okay, I’ll come and watch detectives at play while the fine line between the worlds of the living and the dead is at its thinnest. Could be fun. I can bring a flavour of Poland and recite from our famous poem, “Forefathers’ Eve.”’ He put a hand to his chest and declaimed, ‘“There’s milk, cake, sweet rolls, and fruit and berries. What is it you need, soul, to enter heaven?”’
She shivered at his deep, rumbling voice and the image of a soul lingering and waiting. She took a sip of beer and then looked out at the calm, milky sea. You could go as a witch and put a hex on Mortimer, Ed breathed in her ear.
Bartel bent and rubbed at his heel inside his right boot. ‘Bloody new boots. Bloody blister,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to get some of those special plasters.’
The sight of his enormous foot reminded Siv of her interview with Antonia Santos and something she needed to pursue.
After lunch, she headed off on her own for Cliffdean Point, where she walked for a couple of miles along the stony headland path, enjoying the mellow sun. She could see no one else and the solitude was like a balm. Swathes of faded mauve heather lay around her, and golden gorse waved in the light breeze. Terns and seagulls wheeled and shrieked across the waves, landing briefly on the shoreline. The sea far below was in a gentle mood, a dappled mix of sapphire, green and grey. In the distance, she could see the Bere Marsh nature reserve and the glint of its deep lakes. She tasted sea salt on the breeze and sniffed the evocative scent of autumn: wood smoke, leaf fall, the cooling earth beneath her feet. Well-being stole quietly through her and she stopped to raise her face to the warming sun.
Somewhere along here, Noah had been felled by a stroke when he was out running. He’d have been full of energy and life, his heart working hard, blood pumping, his bones and muscles invigorated, his skin tingling with salt spray. She wondered how long he’d lain, helpless, listening to the murmuring breeze, hearing bird cries, the warmth of the sun on his cooling muscles. There was a terrible and random cruelty in the way that such a young man had been struck down, but even more so in a place of such wild beauty.
She turned off the path, climbing upwards a little way and sat on a mound of scrubby grass, arms around her knees, amid clumps of golden samphire. Her phone interrupted her reverie.
‘Hello, DI Drummond. It’s Lewis Haddon here. Just a call to ask if you can indicate when Steiner’s will be available for us to get on with the job.’
‘I’m not sure, Mr Haddon. I’ll check with colleagues and someone will update you.’
‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you getting anywhere with finding this killer?’
‘I can’t comment on that. I understand your frustration.’
‘You really sound as if you mean that.’
‘You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Mr Haddon. We’ll be in touch.’
She tapped her phone against her chin and reflected on Lyn Dimas and the woman’s rage at her husband’s abandonment. She rang Izzie Sitwell and left a message for her. Then she googled details for the National Organisation of Podiatry and Chiropody and sent an email requesting information about a registered podiatrist.
Chapter 14
Grant Haddon and Adam Dimas were in McDonalds. Grant sipped a coffee while he watched Adam demolish a Grand Big Mac with fries, washing it down with strawberry milkshake. He’d been contemplating becoming a vegan for some time, and seeing Adam chewing and slurping on the greasy grey flesh, he decided he would, from today. His dad would moan and call him a ‘plant muncher,’ but then Grant was planning to move out once he’d done a term at uni. He and his friend Jamie were going to join up and find somewhere. There were loads of student shares around the coast and he’d saved quite a bit in the past year. He’d be able to afford it. Dad wouldn’t like that either, he’d assumed that Grant would live at home while he did his degree, but that was a different bridge to cross. Dad was such a fusspot and so protective. Grant got that Dad obsessed about his welfare because it had been just the two of them for so long, and then he’d had the cancer diagnosis. But he needed to get out from under his father’s intense focus. Jamie joked about his dad, and said that cancer hadn’t killed Grant, but his father might manage to smother him with love.
Adam dug a fry into ketchup. He’d got Grant’s email address th
rough someone at school and had messaged him, asking to meet because he wanted to talk about his mum. Despite his reluctance, it was hard to refuse. If their positions had been reversed, Grant would have wanted to meet. He’d always seen Adam as a bit of a loser and had been sorry for him at Drama club, because he’d struggled to forget his inhibitions. Grant also needed to talk about what had happened at Steiner’s. He couldn’t discuss it with his dad, who’d been irritable for days when he’d found out that Grant had been there that morning instead of going to London as planned.
He’d almost sounded as if it was Grant’s fault he’d found a body when he shouldn’t even have been at the premises. (‘For God’s sake, why can’t I rely on you to just do what you say you’re going to!’) Then his dad had maintained that it was best to put it down to experience and get on with things. ‘Keep your mind on the bigger picture,’ he’d urged. That’s what his dad always said when he was uncomfortable and wanted to avoid a subject. It was a meaningless phrase. He kept worrying about his dad. He couldn’t talk to him about the important thing that he so badly wanted to mention because if he did, it would make it seem as if he was questioning his dad and that wouldn’t go well. But it was there in his head all the time now, niggling at him.
Adam sniffed and wiped ketchup from his chin with the back of his hand. He seemed sweaty and weird, and his eyes kept flickering. Grant wished now that he hadn’t agreed to meet. He had no idea how to start a conversation, but Adam resolved that by tackling it head on.
‘You found my mum, tied to a fridge,’ he said.
‘That’s right. Did the police tell you about it?’
‘Some of it, and my dad as well.’ Adam guzzled his milkshake. ‘I wanted to hear about it from you because you were there. Was it terrible?’
‘Yeah, it was. I mean, it was a terrible shock. It wasn’t your mum, really. It was her earthly remains.’ Grant had mulled over how he’d say this and he was satisfied with his description.
‘Tell me from the start,’ Adam insisted. ‘You went into Steiner’s that morning and then what?’
Grant blinked and took a deep breath. ‘That’s right, we went to clear the place out. I went into the kitchen with a guy called Ivor. We decided to move the fridge first. It was a huge, old-fashioned thing. Ivor pulled it away from the wall and then I saw a . . . a figure attached to the grille at the back. We weren’t sure what it was at first, but then we realised it was human remains. It was hard to believe. Then Ivor rang the police.’
‘I’ve been researching what a body would be like after six years. I read an article about a woman who was found in her car in a garage. She was all desiccated and covered in spiderwebs and it said her face was like a mask. Was my mum all dried up like a mummy in a museum?’ Adam had a clownish pink moustache from the milkshake. It made a strange contrast to the grim subject of the conversation.
Grant sipped his coffee and tried not to recall details of the awful figure behind the fridge. ‘Yes, your mum’s body had dried out. She still had hair. I’m very sorry. This must be terrible for you.’
‘Have you had nightmares?’
‘I’ll always remember it.’
There was a silence. Adam chomped on a sliver of gherkin.
‘I haven’t seen her. Dad isn’t sure, but he says I probably can if I want once she’s at the funeral parlour. I don’t know if I want to. She might be terrifying. I don’t want bad dreams again.’
Grant was out of his depth. ‘Well . . . that’s up to you.’ He could only hope that the undertakers would be able to make Ms Dimas more presentable. He had a vague idea that they used fillers and cosmetics, but it would be hard to make that withered thing remotely human again.
Adam fixed an intense, needy gaze on him. ‘Dad wants her buried, but I’d rather she was cremated. In Wiccan wisdom, fire is a transforming element. It would be more like a proper ritual that way, and I could put cleansing herbs in her coffin. Then I could have some of her ashes and carry them around with me. It would be a way, a way of capturing Mum’s energy and purpose, and keeping it with me for ever. She’d be able to guide me through life and guard me.’
Grant wondered if Adam had been unhinged by the discovery of his mother’s body. He remembered a production of Cymbeline he’d been in and replied carefully. ‘Okay. I don’t understand Wiccan stuff. But burial or cremation, the same thing happens in the end. Shakespeare wrote: “Golden lads and girls all must, as chimney-sweepers, come to dust.” That’s kind of comforting in a way.’
Adam seemed to consider this. ‘That sounds nice. Mum’s hair was golden. But she was too young to come to dust. How could anyone do that to her? Just dump her like that? My mum never harmed anyone.’
Adam was staring at him as if he might have the answer. Grant could only shake his head. The sun was bright in a washed blue sky and he longed to escape into the streets, but he couldn’t leave just yet. He wished again that he’d gone to London that day and had never witnessed those shrunken remains. He waited while Adam finished his meal, heavy with the burden of responsibility.
* * *
All the forensic results were back from Steiner’s. Siv read through with a buzz of excitement, surprise and a large measure of bafflement. Had Lyn Dimas been having an unlikely threesome? She took the results to Ali and Patrick.
‘We have one set of Theo Dimas’s fingerprints on a wine bottle found in the kitchen sink at Steiner’s, along with several of Pearce Aston’s and Lyn’s. Aston’s and Lyn’s fingerprints and saliva are also on the other bottle by the mattress. We already have Lyn’s prints being on a mug in the sink. Aston’s DNA was retrieved from the mattress.’
‘Stall the ball!’ Ali’s jaw dropped. ‘Lyn was there with her old man and Aston?’
‘Possibly. It seems a strange combo. Just one set of fingerprints are all we have placing Dimas there, so that could be tenuous. The wine bottle might have come from the Dimas house and I suppose the mattress could have as well. We’ll need to tease that out.’
‘Maybe they were trying to pep up the marriage,’ Patrick offered.
Siv said, ‘It would explain Lyn’s subsequent animosity to Aston, but if that was the case, surely Dimas would have objected to Aston’s involvement with Lily. I suppose that he could have gone there on his own at some point for sex and left a wine bottle that Lyn and Aston touched subsequently. To my knowledge, Steiner’s has never been a meeting place for gay men. Have either of you picked up on that?’
They both shook their heads.
‘Okay, so if Aston and the Dimases had some kind of threesome, and Lyn and Theo later found him coming on to Lily, surely Aston would have been the one who’d end up tied to the fridge.’
‘Perhaps Dimas and Aston were having the fling,’ Ali offered.
‘What, with Lyn watching? Hardly, and from what I’ve gathered, Aston is firmly hetero. I still can’t square any of this with them being in that dump, but maybe we’re about to get answers. We arrest them both. I can’t wait to hear their explanations. We don’t have any forensic matches from Steiner’s for Jeff Downey, Joe Dimas, Monty Barnwell or any of the other named people. I’m having an estate agent’s samples eliminated.’ She explained about Vi Finch. ‘Before we bring Dimas and Aston in, let’s catch up on other tasks. Patrick, you first.’
He stifled a yawn. ‘Trudy Kemp was rushed into hospital with a ruptured appendix a couple of nights ago, so no progress there. She was complaining about stomach pains when I saw her. She’s been out of it, so I’ve asked the ward to call when I can talk to her. Nothing useful from Twitter. I checked out the builders and nothing negative came up on any of them, or any link to Lyn.’
Siv frowned at him. Those results couldn’t have taken him long. What had he been doing with his time? ‘When you do catch up with Ms Kemp, ask her if she recalls anything about Lyn’s problems at Foot Heaven, in Seaford. Ali, what have you got?’
Ali was drinking green tea. He hated the stuff, but it made him feel virtuous. Nurse Keene had told
him off at the diabetic clinic. She’d scowled and waved his chart under his nose. ‘I’m very disappointed. An intelligent man like you should be able to manage this better. I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself!’ Every time he got scared, he took to a careful diet of fish, eggs, leafy vegetables and herb teas for a few weeks, before he relapsed. The next month would be long and miserable. He was relishing the chance to take out his suffering on Dimas and Aston.
He made a face as he swallowed, checking his notes. ‘Aston’s an opinionated piece of work and he seemed reluctant to give fingerprints et cetera. Now we know why. He said he’d never been to Steiner’s. I checked back at the flat where Barnwell was living in 2013. It’s a block of six. Three of the tenancies have changed since then, and the other three residents were out that night and couldn’t offer any information. Maria Steiner lives in Lincoln now. She told me that she’s only been to Orford End once, soon after her dad died, and she was pretty sure there was no mattress in the office then. She’s never heard of Lyn Dimas. She’s got a clean record and I verified her alibi for the twenty-eighth of July.’
‘Right. You two, sort out our arrests. Patrick, a word before you do that.’
In her office, she watched him flop into a chair. ‘Are you okay? You look done in. Problems at home?’
‘Er . . . Noah had a fall. He’s okay. Just been a bit worried about him.’
‘You’re sure that’s all?’
‘Yeah, guv.’
She could tell that he was holding something back, but if he didn’t want to talk about his home life, there was no point in pressing him. ‘Right. I need you to flag it to me if you’re not pushed for work. We’re not short of tasks.’
‘Sure, course. Can I do an interview?’
She wasn’t sure he’d stay alert. ‘No, I’ll do those with Ali. I want you to chase up Vi Finch, find out who she showed around Steiner’s and when. And put pressure on the hospital to let you see Trudy Kemp.’
NEVER CAME HOME an addictive crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Inspector Siv Drummond Book 2) Page 18