‘I went to the wildlife park this morning and they said Lycett might be here—’
Joe interrupted. ‘Why did you go to Pennefeather’s?’
‘To find out what happened to Bella,’ said Luke, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Joe frowned. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘I could ask you the same question,’ said Luke. ‘At least I knew her, which is more than you did.’
Joe stifled a sigh. This was no time to rise to his son’s bait.
‘Go on,’ he said.
Luke laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles as he continued with his version of events.
‘A girl at the ele house said that Bella and Tom used to have sex. I was pissed off – jealous, I guess – but I wanted to talk to him anyway. The girl said he often has lunch here, on his day off. So I turn up and the Bentley’s sitting here, like this – I love cock all over it. I’m about to go into the cafe when these two blokes come out’ – he gestured at Felix and Tom – ‘and start yelling at me, like I had something to do with it. Which I didn’t. Then they phone him.’ He pointed to Hugh. ‘And he phones Mum and she phones you, and here we all are.’
Joe turned to Tom. ‘What makes you assume it was Luke who vandalized your car?’
‘There was no one here when we arrived,’ said the keeper. His voice was calm. ‘No one around when we came out, only your son.’
‘How long were you in the cafe?’
‘Half an hour.’
‘So that’s thirty minutes when you couldn’t see the car.’ Joe scanned the area. ‘There’s no CCTV. The cafe faces out to sea. Anyone could have left the graffiti then done a runner without being seen.’
Felix sighed. ‘I suppose so.’ He glared at Luke. ‘But it wasn’t “anybody” who sold cocaine to my niece.’
‘I don’t see the relevance,’ said Joe.
His words were almost drowned out by the arrival of a tow truck. The driver wore a baseball cap. Reversing into position in front of the Bentley, he stepped down and glanced at the graffiti then scratched his head.
‘Who called me out?’
Hugh pointed to Felix. ‘Mr Goodchild.’
The DS seemed eager to distance himself from the graffiti-scarred car.
The lawyer stepped forward. ‘Did you bring a tarp?’
The man in the cap nodded. Joe watched Goodchild mutter something in Lycett’s ear. He heard the end of the sentence.
‘…then let’s just bloody go.’
The two men helped the driver lash the tarpaulin over the front of the Bentley, obscuring the graffiti from view. The yoke was lowered from the back of the truck and bolted under the rear wheels of the car.
‘Perhaps we jumped to conclusions,’ said Felix as the driver climbed behind the wheel. ‘We’ll be on our way.’
‘So that’s it?’ said Duffy, flicking ash from his roll-up. ‘You accept that Luke didn’t have anything to do with this?’
Felix nodded. He glared in Luke’s direction. ‘But on behalf of Bella’s family, do us a favour: stay away.’
Joe watched Felix clamber into the truck’s cab, alongside the driver and Tom. He heard Luke’s voice.
‘For the record, Mr Goodchild, I couldn’t care less if you like cock or not.’
Joe saw Felix stiffen. Duffy swallowed a smile as the lawyer and keeper were driven away. Luke took a few steps towards the cafe. Hugh smiled.
‘Chip off the old block?’ he said. ‘Walking the mean streets, playing private eye?’
Joe felt a surge of irritation. ‘You think this was a coincidence?’ he said. ‘Nothing to do with what happened to Bella?’
Duffy shrugged. ‘I can’t see how.’
‘It might have been an idea to get the car dusted for fingerprints.’
The man met his gaze. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’
Joe shrugged. ‘You’re the copper, not me.’
Duffy crushed his cigarette stub under his heel.
‘Is there some kind of problem, Joe?’
Joe shrugged. ‘You tell me.’
Glancing over the man’s shoulder, he saw Luke by the cafe, absent-mindedly twirling his goatee between forefinger and thumb. He switched focus back to Duffy. The DS was frowning, puzzled.
‘Am I missing something?’ said Duffy.
Get a grip.
‘Those two clowns had no business having a go at Luke,’ said Joe. He turned to his son. ‘But you’re out of order, snooping around Pennefeather’s. You’re in enough trouble as it is.’
Duffy nodded. ‘Your mum is so not happy,’ he said.
Joe felt his hackles rising. ‘Thank you, Duffy. I’ll take it from here.’
The man’s smile disappeared. He opened the door of his car.
‘Any message for Katie?’
Joe stared. Hard. ‘No. I’ll talk to her later.’
He stood alongside his son, watching as the man drove away.
‘Something tells me you’re not his number one fan,’ said Luke.
Joe watched the car disappear from view. He tried to keep his tone light.
‘I haven’t given it much thought.’
Luke knelt to tie a lace on his trainer.
‘You know it wasn’t me, right?’
Joe nodded. ‘Not unless you’ve turned into a homophobic graffiti guerrilla.’
Luke straightened up. ‘So, who was it?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ said Joe.
They sat on a bench, looking out to sea. Luke took a pack of gum from his pocket and proffered it to Joe. Joe remembered the padded envelope on its way to the Cambridge laboratory.
‘No, thanks,’ he said.
To his left, the cliffs sloped towards Ramsgate and Deal. Two dog walkers were making their way up the incline, heading for the cafe.
‘So,’ said Luke, ‘Tom Lycett’s gay and he was shagging Bella? Man, some people have complicated lives.’
Joe sighed. ‘When did it become “shagging”? When I was a kid it was “making love” or “copping off”. Now it’s “shagging”. Horrible word.’
Luke rolled his eyes. ‘Meanwhile, back in the twenty-first century…’
Joe smiled. ‘Whatever happened between you and Bella it’s a lousy idea to get involved in some kind of amateur investigation, off your own bat.’
‘But I am involved,’ said Luke. ‘I might have been the last person to see her alive.’ He turned to look at his father. ‘Do you think Goodchild or Lycett had something to do with it?’
‘Maybe,’ said Joe. ‘But another man has been taken in for questioning. Raoul Jonas. He’s an animal activist, working undercover at Pennefeather’s. Got a lot of explaining to do.’
‘Whose collar would he be?’ said Luke. ‘Mum’s, Messenger’s or yours?’
Joe sidestepped the question. ‘It’s too soon to say. The evidence is only circumstantial.’
‘What does your gut tell you?’ said Luke. A glint of copper caught Joe’s eye, shining from a rogue hair in his son’s sideburns.
‘I’m not sure the gut is the best way,’ he said. ‘It can lead you down the wrong path.’
Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘What happened to “listen to your stomach”?’
Joe stood up, nodding toward the cafe. ‘Mine’s telling me I need something to eat before court. Sandwich?’
Luke shook his head.
‘They probably do egg and cress,’ said Joe. He was on the verge of raising his son’s interest in vegetarianism – and his book, Nothing With A Face – but Luke took him by surprise.
‘I’m sorry for what I said in the pub, about Mum. It was weird, seeing you with that woman, but I didn’t mean what I said.’
‘What did you mean?’
Luke’s turn to shrug. ‘She has the occasional drink with Hugh. I don’t think there’s anything going on. I was just being a dickhead.’
Joe nodded. ‘What’s he like?’
Luke shrugged. ‘Comes on a bit strong, tr
ies to be too pally.’
‘What sort of pally?’
‘When he was picking Mum up in the mornings, before she got her car back, he’d bring her a Starbucks.’
‘Like an apple for teacher?’
‘Sort of,’ said Luke. ‘Sometimes he’d bring me one too. Hot chocolate.’
Joe felt a stab of jealousy at the thought of Duffy turning up for breakfast at Marlowe Avenue. He squinted against the sun, staring out to sea.
‘Remember coming here when I was a kid?’ said Luke.
Joe nodded, picturing his son running through the poppy fields that stretched for miles around.
‘I remember the first time you saw France,’ he said. ‘You wanted to swim across the Channel.’
‘How old was I?’
Joe grinned. ‘About four. Still had your water-wings.’
Luke smiled, watching a seagull soar from beneath the cliff then circle in the air, riding a thermal. Joe stood up.
‘Call Mum.’ He handed his mobile to Luke. ‘Tell her we’ll meet her outside court.’
Luke hesitated. His voice was tremulous. ‘Will I go to prison?’ His eyes searched his father’s.
‘It’s highly unlikely,’ said Joe.
He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.
20
Canterbury magistrates yesterday heard a guilty plea from a police officer’s son accused of supplying cocaine to tragic zoo beauty Bella Pennefeather. 20-year-old Luke Cassidy, son of Detective Inspector Katie Cassidy and former police officer Joe Cassidy, apologized for what he called ‘a daft one-off’ and told the court he had written to Bella’s parents to express his remorse. Cassidy was indicted to appear for sentencing at Crown Court next month.
Scanning Chrissie’s article, Joe felt a flicker of relief. The nationals’ coverage was likely to be more judgemental. He owed the reporter a drink. A large one. He prodded the Cumberland sausages frying in the pan then continued to read.
In related developments, police last night released a 25-year-old man questioned during the Bella Pennefeather murder inquiry. The man, believed to be a part-time worker at the troubled wildlife park, spent six hours at Canterbury police station before being released without charge. Meanwhile, as attendance figures at the troubled zoo plummet, sources close to the investigation refused to confirm or deny speculation that the victim’s father, millionaire brewing heir Adam Pennefeather, is set to face further questioning.
Joe finished the article then closed his laptop. The reference to Adam was provocative but unlikely to have Felix reaching for a writ.
Lifting the frying pan, he placed two sausages between slices of thickly buttered bread then added a dollop of mustard for good measure. Slicing open the remaining bangers, he took his breakfast onto the porch. The anglers had moved on and there was no sign of his ponytailed neighbour or the three-legged dog.
Feeling a twinge of disappointment, Joe placed the extra sausages in the dog’s bowl, leaving them to cool, then took a bite of his sandwich and scanned the deserted beach. The lapping of the waves and stark beauty of the landscape were at odds with the ugliness of the power station that loomed over the shack. A phalanx of pylons resembled metallic giants, their huge arms jutting towards the nuclear reactor and turbines.
Sipping his tea, Joe heard the seven o’clock pips wafting from the kitchen radio. He tried to picture the scene at Marlowe Avenue.
The Today programme burbling in the background.
Katie making coffee.
Calling upstairs to rouse Luke.
Circling job ads in the paper.
As usual, she would have laid the table before going to bed, positioning bowls, cups and cutlery with perfect symmetry, arranging cereal boxes in ascending order of height. Joe guessed that she, too, would be reading the account of their son’s court appearance. Closing his eyes, he tried to visualize himself as an integral part of the scene in Marlowe Avenue.
Sipping tea.
Buttering toast.
The cat curling around his ankles.
But the image wouldn’t come.
Unbidden, a disturbingly different tableau swam into his mind’s eye.
Another man at the table.
Smiling at Katie.
Wearing a dressing gown.
Hugh Duffy.
Opening his eyes, Joe tried to shake the image from his head. The more he struggled to visualize himself at home, sitting in his usual chair, the more elusive the picture became. He shivered, despite the sunshine, and gazed out at the horizon. Then he picked up his mobile and composed a text.
Well done yesterday. Are you OK?
His son’s reply was almost immediate.
job hunting lost wallett seen it? x
Irritated by Luke’s refusal to spell or punctuate properly, Joe was nevertheless impressed. Perhaps the last few days had given the boy a shock, a renewed impetus to kick-start his life. If so, a court appearance – maybe even a suspended sentence – might be a price worth paying.
As for Joe’s other quandary, the breakdown he’d suffered after the Kinsella case had shown all too clearly the perils of failing to compartmentalize his worries. He was stronger with every passing day. Better able to cope. Whatever the outcome of the DNA test, he would face it when the time came, not before.
He sent Luke another text, wishing him luck with the job hunt and promising to keep an eye out for the missing wallet. As he took another sip of tea, his mobile shrilled. He didn’t recognize the number but Liam’s Irish lilt was familiar.
‘Isobel told me to call. Adam’s disappeared.’
* * *
Forty minutes later, Joe sat opposite Isobel and Saffron. Liam and Felix stood at the far end of the drawing room, talking on their mobiles. The Irishman was pacing back and forth, the air filled with quiet anxiety.
‘Please thank your son for his letter,’ Isobel told Joe.
Her speech was slurred, her smile brittle. Joe could smell alcohol on her breath. He wondered when she’d last had a bath.
‘Adam and I agree,’ she said. ‘It was Bella’s choice to take drugs. Luke should have known better than to sell cocaine but he’s not to blame for what happened to her. I hope he’s learned his lesson.’
‘That makes two of us,’ said Joe.
He watched the woman pluck a cigarette from the onyx box.
‘What happened last night?’ he said. ‘When did you last see Adam?’
‘I went to bed at eleven,’ Isobel said, lighting the cigarette with a graceful flourish of a bird-like hand. Her nails were dirty, the varnish was chipped ‘Adam had gone to his room. He had a headache but otherwise seemed OK. Just sad about Bella. I slept fitfully. My alarm went off at six-thirty. I went to his room to wake him but he wasn’t there. The bed hadn’t been slept in—’
Saffron interrupted. ‘His car is gone.’
‘No one heard him leave?’ said Joe.
Isobel shook her head. A shaft of unforgiving morning light struck her forehead, laying bare the wrinkles Botox couldn’t erase.
‘I was out for the count.’
‘So were Liam and I,’ said Saffron. She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. ‘We’ve been on sleeping pills ever since Bella was…’ She let the sentence peter out then raised her voice, calling to the other end of the room.
‘Liam, did you hear Daddy’s car last night?’
He broke off from his call. ‘No. I was dead to the world. Like you.’
Resuming a conversation about staffing rotas at Planet Pizza, he sank into a leather armchair by the bay window.
Felix finished his call and strode across the room, sitting next to Isobel, ignoring Joe.
‘Adam’s mobile still seems to be switched off.’ He gave his sister a comforting pat on the knee. She folded her arms and leaned back against the cushions, as though distancing herself from her sibling.
‘What about the police?’ said Isobel.
‘On their way,’ said Felix.
Joe need
ed to move fast. ‘Do you mind if I take a look in Adam’s bedroom?’
Isobel flicked ash from her cigarette. ‘Help yourself.’
Joe headed for the door. He stopped as he heard Felix’s voice.
‘Is your son OK? After his court appearance?’
Joe smiled. ‘He’s glad it’s over. For now, anyway.’
The man nodded. Joe wondered if he was about to raise the subject of the graffiti but he simply said, ‘I’ll bet’, then lit a cigarette and watched as Joe left the room.
* * *
Adam’s bedroom was in darkness. Joe opened the curtains. The room was sparsely furnished. A mahogany wardrobe. A king-size bed. A desk. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed with books. Unlike Adam’s study, there was no evidence of his fascination with the macabre; here, the collection of books was devoted to a single subject: animals.
Observing Animal Behaviour lay open on the bedside table. The pillows were propped against the bedstead. Isobel was right: the bed hadn’t been slept in.
A metal gun cabinet was bolted to a wall. Joe tried the handle. Locked.
Surveying the desk, he saw a key in an ashtray. It fitted the cabinet. The door opened with a squeak, revealing four Purdey 12-bore shotguns, boxes of cartridges and a plastic wallet containing firearms permits. Joe relocked the cupboard and replaced the key in the ashtray.
Also on the desk was a bottle of Balvenie single malt alongside a USB cable plugged into a printer. No sign of a computer, just a space where a laptop would have sat.
Next to the whisky bottle was a pile of letters. One expressed the sender’s condolences on the death of Adam’s daughter.
Hearing a car on the gravel drive, Joe glanced out of the window. Bryan Messenger and Hugh Duffy were making their way towards the front door. He cast another look at the printer then made his way downstairs.
In the drawing room, the police officers stood with their backs to the fireplace. Both were ill at ease, particularly Duffy. He wore another gaudy tie: emerald green dissected by a purple and white stripe. Liam sat on the sofa, next to Isobel. Messenger gave a tight smile, looking at Joe.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
Animal Instinct Page 15