Or was Joe confusing instinct with imagination?
Lying in bed an hour later, another anxiety bubbled to the surface. A feeling that he’d been blind to aspects of the fate that had befallen Bella and her father. The news that Raoul Jonas was to be arrested should have been a relief. But Joe couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
Giving up on sleep, he returned to the kitchen, flicking through his notebook, reviewing the entries he’d made since Adam’s first visit. Then he turned his attention to the flyer he’d found in Raoul’s caravan.
Dear Animal Lover,
Zoos have been in busness since the 18th century, tormennting animals in the name of entertainment…
He placed the flyer alongside the printouts from Katie’s laptop – the pages from Bella’s iPhone diary. He scrutinized each line before reaching the last entry. Sunday 28 August. The day before her body was found.
Dear Diary.
Nightmares all night. Haven’t had them for ages. Scared shitless!! HATE Dad!! Can’t tell Mum what happened. She won’t believe me. Nobody will. Years of secrecy, abuse and lies. Told Dad today: I’m going mad!! HATE HATE HATE HIM! Must tell someone!!! Feels like cancer. Past ruining my present. Who can I tell? Wish I were dead. Everyone thinks he’s so nice. Can’t even tell Saffron. HELP!!! PLEASE!!!
Joe read the passage twice then flicked to another page. The entry for July 4th.
Dear Diary,
New ele keeper started today. Tom Lycett. Sex on legs!! Fit! Fit! Fit!! Not sure he’s noticed me, or is remotely interested. Can’t blame him. Hate my nose, hate my breasts, HATE HATE HATE my thighs!!
Joe placed the entries side by side, subjecting both to scrutiny. He took another look at Jonas’s flyer. Then he leaned back and allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.
The devil was in the detail.
24
Kent police today arrested a 36-year-old man in connection with the murder of zoo heiress Bella Pennefeather, whose father was found dead yesterday. Sources say the arrest follows the discovery of new forensic evidence but Detective Inspector Bryan Messenger declined to comment.
Hearing the news on the radio, Joe left a message on Messenger’s voicemail. The DI took a while to respond (not surprising on the day of a major arrest) but was now sitting opposite Joe in the interview room, eating a cheese and pickle sandwich. Hugh Duffy sipped a black coffee, loosened his canary yellow tie and leaned back in his chair.
‘What has good old Joe got for us?’ he said, splaying his legs. ‘Come to tell us we nicked the wrong man?’
Joe shook his head. ‘More complicated than that.’
His dislike of the DS was growing with each encounter but he tried to keep his focus on Messenger. This was a professional visit, pure and simple.
‘Congrats on the Raoul Jonas arrest.’
‘Thanks,’ said Messenger.
‘I assume you nicked him because you got a positive ID from the DNA on Bella’s body?’
There was a hint of smugness in Messenger’s smile. ‘You assume correctly.’
He ignored a glare from Duffy.
‘Was Jonas also a match for the DNA on Daniel De Souza’s clothes?’ said Joe. ‘After the attack in London last year?’
Messenger’s smile faltered. ‘Someone’s been busy.’
The De Souza case was old news: an attempt on the life of a trustafarian whose wealth derived from the fur empire that bore his family name. Joe considered confessing to finding the De Souza articles in Jonas’s caravan but decided against it.
‘Just call me Mystic Meg,’ he said.
Messenger brushed crumbs from his sleeve. He lowered his voice.
‘The De Souza investigation is down to the Met. But we’ve got DNA linking Raoul Jonas to Bella and the attack on Daniel De Souza.’
Duffy sighed. ‘I know you two go back to the Jurassic era but if Joe’s got something to say, now’s the time to spit it out.’
Joe reached into his pocket and produced the printouts of Bella’s diary.
‘I assume you’ve seen these.’
Messenger donned a pair of black-rimmed glasses and scanned the documents.
‘Any point asking how you got hold of them?’
Joe ignored the question. ‘Just bear with me.’ He tapped the first sheet of paper with a finger. ‘Look at the opening lines of Bella’s final diary entry.’
Messenger and Duffy leaned forward.
Dear Diary.
Nightmares all night. Haven’t had them for ages. Scared shitless!! HATE Dad!! Can’t tell Mum what happened when I was little. She won’t believe me. Nobody will.
‘I’m no good at guessing games,’ said Messenger. ‘Put me out of my misery.’
Joe smiled. ‘I missed it myself.’ He tapped the second sheet of paper. ‘Look at this entry. A few weeks earlier. July the fourth.’
Messenger started to read. Duffy sighed then followed suit.
Dear Diary,
New ele keeper started today. Tom Lycett. Sex on legs! Fit! Fit! Fit!
Messenger peered over the rim of his glasses.
‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘We’ve had Lycett on the list since day one. We know he was screwing Bella. But nothing links him to the crime scene. There’s no DNA. And he’s got an alibi for the night she died.’
Joe nodded. ‘Tom Lycett and Felix Goodchild say they spent the night together. It may or may not be true but it’s not what matters here.’
Duffy could barely disguise his irritation.
‘So what does matter?’
Joe pointed to the entry for 4 July.
‘This starts with “Dear Diary” then a comma. Same with the other diary entries. Except the last one.’
His finger moved to the entry for 28 August.
‘The last thing she wrote – supposedly – begins with “Dear Diary”.’ He paused for emphasis. ‘Then there’s a full stop.’
The men on the other side of the table scrutinized the printouts.
‘Can we have subtitles for the hard-of-thinking?’ said Messenger.
It was Joe’s turn to lean forward.
‘Bella was well educated,’ he said. ‘The spelling throughout the diary is excellent. So is her punctuation. Too many exclamation marks maybe, but otherwise it’s spot on. Except for this final entry. “Dear Diary” full stop. All the others have the correct punctuation: “Dear Diary” comma.’
No one spoke. Joe heard traffic outside. Voices in the corridor. The police officers inspected the pages again then exchanged a look.
Joe rammed his point home.
‘Nobody writes, “Dear so-and-so” full stop,’ he said. ‘It’s “Dear so-and-so” comma.’
‘Some people don’t use commas or full stops,’ said Duffy. He took out his mobile and examined the keypad. ‘Probably just a typo. The full stop is next to the comma. The app was on Bella’s iPhone. Tiny keypad. One slip of the finger and—’
‘That might explain it,’ interrupted Joe. ‘Or it might not.’
A pause. Messenger took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
‘To be clear, you’re saying the rogue full stop indicates someone other than Bella wrote her last diary entry. About her father abusing her.’
Joe nodded. ‘The entry that gave him motive. I reckon it’s worth getting the forensic linguistics boffins to take a look. Might turn up something else.’
Duffy shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Joe, but we’re not the punctuation police.’
Joe felt his stomach give a lurch.
Punctuation police.
Katie’s phrase.
They’d been talking behind his back.
Messenger shot Duffy a glare.
‘What Hugh means is that we’ve never taken Bella’s diary at face value. No handwriting to analyse, no signature. It might have been written by her, it might not. But we already know that.’
‘But if it w
asn’t,’ said Joe, ‘then it was faked by someone trying to give her father a motive for murder. My guess: it’s the same person who planted his prints in the ele house, and the whisky bottle.’
He paused, feeling the old excitement rising.
Back in the game.
‘I haven’t seen Adam’s so-called suicide note but I bet it’s got the same mistake: “Dear whoever” followed by a full stop not a comma.’
Messenger blinked then turned to Duffy.
‘Let’s look at the note.’
The DS shrugged, got to his feet and left the room. Silence fell. Joe counted to ten, trying to keep his focus on the inquiry, not the man with the ginger hair.
He failed.
‘How’s Duffy working out?’
Messenger shrugged. ‘So far, so good.’
Joe detected a hint of doubt.
‘Come on, Bryan. How long have we known each other?’
Messenger hesitated. ‘You’d think he’d be a bit humble, all things considered.’
‘What “things”?’
‘He transferred from the Met under a cloud. Fancies himself as a ladies’ man. But the ladies aren’t always keen, if you get my drift.’
Joe frowned. ‘Sexual harassment?’
‘Bit of a grey area,’ said Messenger. He finished his Coke and lobbed the can into the bin. Joe wasn’t finished.
‘Was there an official complaint?’
Messenger shook his head. ‘But the grapevine says Gingernuts jumped before he was pushed.’
He gave an impressively loud burp then donned his glasses and turned his attention to the final entry in Bella’s diary.
Dear Diary.
Nightmares all night. Haven’t had them for ages. Scared shitless!! HATE Dad!!
‘For the record,’ said Messenger, ‘the lab rats are going over Pennefeather’s laptop now. Couple of porn sites but nothing you wouldn’t find in any top-shelf mag. Could be a while before we get the full monty.’
Joe nodded, recalling Adam’s admission use of porn.
‘Any fingerprints on the laptop?’
‘Only Adam’s,’ said Messenger.
‘What about his body? Were there defensive wounds?’
‘Impossible to tell. He was a mess. Hit the cliff-face on his way down. Bounced like a pinball.’
Joe winced.
‘Are you ruling out the possibility that he was pushed?’
Messenger sighed. ‘We’re not ruling out anything.’
The door opened. Joe tried to read Duffy’s face but the man was giving nothing away.
‘Printout of Adam Pennefeather’s suicide note.’
He handed the sheet of paper to Messenger then turned to Joe.
‘We know it could have been faked.’
Messenger scanned the photocopy then placed the printout in front of Joe.
Dear Isobel. I’m so very sorry. I just can’t bear the guilt any more. A.
Joe smiled, trying not to sound smug.
‘Is it me, or does this say, “Dear Isobel” followed by a full stop?’
The DS didn’t return the smile.
‘What exactly does this prove?’
‘It doesn’t prove anything,’ said Joe. ‘But it indicates that the same person who faked Bella’s final diary entry may also have faked this.’ He locked eyes with Duffy. ‘I’m saying that person was probably not Raoul Jonas.’ He took Jonas’s flyer from his pocket. ‘Read the beginning.’
Dear Animal Lover,
Zoos have been in busness since the 18th century, tormennting animals in the name of entertainment…
‘Notice the comma,’ said Joe. ‘Plus, he can’t spell for toffee.’
Messenger rifled through the papers on the table.
‘So according to Joe Cassidy,’ he said, ‘Bella’s final diary entry and Adam’s note were written by the same person. But not the bloke we nicked.’
Joe nodded. ‘In which case we’d better keep digging.’
Duffy yawned and stole a glance at his watch.
‘There is no “we”.’ He pointed to Messenger. ‘He’s a copper, I’m a copper…’ He tailed off, allowing Joe to finish the sentence for him.
‘And I’m a busybody?’
‘I was going to say “civilian”.’
Joe leaned forward. ‘Maybe I am from the Jurassic era, Duffy. But whatever happened to “accept nothing, believe no one, challenge everything”?’
Duffy leaned back in his chair and made an effort to soften his tone.
‘Look, mate, I saw this all the time at the Met. A man leaves the job, feels a lack of purpose.’ He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Have you thought of a sideline?’
‘Such as?’ said Joe.
‘Security work? Just to keep your hand in.’
Joe could feel his face redden.
‘I’m not an armchair copper sinking beers during Crimewatch. Maybe Raoul Jonas is our man, maybe he isn’t. Either way, there’s something else here. This isn’t just about a man who kills because he hates zoos.’
‘Says your gut?’ said Duffy.
Joe ignored the sarcasm in the man’s voice.
‘And these.’
He pointed to the documents on the table. Messenger folded his arms.
‘We don’t nick people on a whim, Joe.’
‘Has Raoul Jonas confessed?’
Duffy shook his head. ‘But he’s like a jihadist. Except he’s not fighting for radical Islam, he’s fighting for animals.’
Messenger sighed. He took off his glasses and polished them on a handkerchief.
‘Look at the evidence, Joe. DNA ties Jonas to Bella’s body and the attack on De Souza. He bombarded people with photos of Bella’s body, pictures he likely took himself.’
He pocketed the handkerchief and folded the glasses away.
Duffy gave a thin smile.
‘So on the one hand we have cast-iron DNA evidence. On the other hand, Joe’s got a full stop. A dot.’
Messenger turned to Duffy.
‘Don’t be a prick.’ He gathered the photocopies and handed them to Joe. ‘Thanks for the steer. We’ll keep it in mind.’
Joe didn’t trust himself to speak. Messenger lobbed his sandwich wrapper in the bin and got to his feet.
‘We’ve a press conference starting in ten.’ He patted Joe’s shoulder. ‘Let’s have that beer soon.’
Joe followed the men into the corridor and walked into the men’s toilet. Splashing water on his face, he fought the urge to go back and tackle Duffy about the teenager who called herself Tiffany. He’d had enough for one day. ‘Blondie’ would have to wait.
Emerging into the corridor he exchanged pleasantries with a couple of former colleagues then headed for the exit. Rounding a corner, the sight of a familiar figure stopped him dead.
Katie was standing at the foot of a stairwell on the other side of a glass door, talking to Duffy and oblivious to Joe’s presence. The DS was listening intently. He looked up and saw Joe. A smile spread across his face. There was no warmth behind the man’s eyes. He reached out a hand, tucking a lock of hair behind Katie’s ear. Turning, she caught sight of her husband. Her face fell. A picture of guilt.
The confirmation of his fears was like a blow to the head. His wife and Duffy were much more than just good friends.
But something else was clear.
Duffy wanted him to know.
* * *
Coffee’s & tea’s & sandwich’s.
How long had he been glowering at the apostrophes on the board outside the cafe? Twenty minutes? More? He stabbed his cigarette into the ashtray and tried to wrench his mind away from Duffy’s smug smile. But the image in the stairwell – the expression on the man’s face – refused to go away.
As for Duffy’s jibe – we’re not the punctuation police – condescending prick!
The first Marlboro tasted foul. Joe felt his fingers tingle as the chemicals smacked into his bloodstream. The second was less revolting. The third ta
sted good. After that it was downhill. Each drag increased his self-loathing or made him cough. He checked the pack. Twelve left. He’d smoked eight in under an hour.
Time to face facts. He was fifty, with no reason to get out of bed in the morning. His relationship with his son (assuming Luke was his son) was troubled. His wife was having an affair. Her lover relished filling Joe’s shoes, personally and professionally. On the plus side, there was a copper’s pension, a leaky shack in the middle of nowhere and occasional visits from a three-legged dog.
He reached for another cigarette and placed it between his lips. The scent of tobacco drifted towards his nostrils. He flicked his lighter, feeling the heat as he brought the flame close to his face.
His mobile beeped. A text from Luke.
at yr place something 2 show u abt raoul jonas urgent
Joe thought for a moment then sent a reply.
On my way.
He scattered a handful of change on the table then got to his feet and cast a final look at the blackboard.
Coffee’s & tea’s & sandwich’s.
He moistened a finger and erased the rogue apostrophes.
Coffee s & tea s & sandwich s.
It was a small step but it was in the right direction.
25
The afternoon sun was fading as Joe pulled up outside the shack. Luke was lying on the porch, sheltering from the wind, eyes closed, clutching a can of Red Bull. His beard was growing straggly but Joe could detect no trace of red hair, at least not from this distance.
‘I thought Red Bull kept you awake.’
Luke opened one eye. ‘Who says I’m asleep?’
He got to his feet and picked up his rucksack as Joe opened the front door. ‘You had a visitor.’
Joe frowned. ‘Who?’
‘A dog. Well, most of a dog.’ Luke pointed to the makeshift basket in the porch. ‘I think I scared him away.’ He waggled the can of Red Bull. ‘For future reference he loves this stuff.’
Joe scanned the deserted beach.
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