Scarlett stopped, and stared over Dan’s head. ‘I can’t. It was … It was … horrible.’
‘What was, Scarlett?’
She brought her eyes back to his. ‘The smell, the fire. The screaming …’ she dropped her head into her hands. ‘What the hell have I been doing?’
Vanessa Redmond patted her hand. ‘Well done, Scarlett. I think my client might be willing to write a confession, now, Chief Inspector,’ she said, ‘why don’t you charge her?’
Outside, Dan waited until Bill Larcombe had handed him the signed confession, and taken a dulled and unresisting Scarlett to the cells. ‘Thank you,’ he said to Redmond.
She avoided his gaze. ‘I have a daughter at Exeter, in the same year as these girls. Doing medicine, thank God.’ Redmond folded her glasses and slipped them into a little case. ‘I just thought, that if she was mine, and she’d done something so unutterably stupid, I would want her to come clean and face up to it. And I would want to keep her out of prison.’ She looked at Dan. ‘I suppose that’s asking too much?’
‘Way too much. Guilty, all of them. If both girls tell us everything, they know it might reduce their sentences, but they were accessories: they helped build the bonfires, they watched two men burn to death, horribly, and they did nothing. How lenient should the judge be? How lenient would a jury be?’
Redmond sighed and zipped her bag shut. ‘I’ll see you soon, then. Goodbye.’
31
Lizzie chewed on an already ragged fingernail as Foster negotiated the shoppers’ traffic in Exmouth town centre. She was still stewing over Sam Knowles’s behaviour in the interview, and had to forcibly remove the scene from her memory before it became a headache. Silly idiot. What was he trying to prove?
Then she squirmed to think about Harry Karpal Singh. She’d almost bumped into him in the corridor leading to the interview rooms, and had to disappear into the toilets to avoid him. How embarrassing would that have been? Her father had never forgiven her for turning him down, especially when he became a solicitor – one of her dad’s ‘preferred professions’. But Harry was more like her grandfather than her cousin, and no way were her parents marrying her off like she was property to be got rid of. And Harry would want her to stay at home and raise babies, and that was never going to happen. She reckoned she was almost old enough for her parents to give up trying to match-make, and write her off as an old maid. Roll on, she thought.
‘Do you think Paddy will be the next victim?’ she asked Foster. ‘I can see a pattern here quite clearly. I really hope he’s in the hostel. Put your foot down.’
Foster gave her a swift glance. ‘He wasn’t there when I went in yesterday. Don’t get your hopes up. At least,’ he said, swerving round an old man pulling his wife and their shopping trolley across the road, ‘at least if he has run, he might escape a nasty fate.’ He pulled up outside the hostel, bringing the car to a halt using his handbrake.
Lizzie was out of the car before he’d undone his seatbelt. She ran up the path and rang the bell. This time, Jane Poole was ready for them.
‘Thought it might be you lot again. Dimp hasn’t come back, and neither has Paddy since yesterday.’ She shrugged. ‘They’re not reliable, you know.’ She looked at their faces as they stood on the doorstep. ‘It is Dimp you’re asking after? He’s the dead one, isn’t he?’ She turned and led them down the corridor into the kitchen, and pointed them towards a long table with a bench on either side. ‘Sit down.’
Poole sighed and folded her arms. ‘What do you need?’ she asked, all animation gone from her face. ‘You know, I don’t know what’s happening here any more. Of all the people I’d happily murder, two homeless guys would not be my first choice.’
Lizzie passed across the post-mortem photo of the second victim, twirling it round so Poole could see it. ‘Is this him?’
Poole studied the photo. ‘Yes, that’s him. Dimp. David Hamworthy is his real name. Poor sod. I just knew it was him when it was on the news this morning. Wait here a minute.’ She sighed and went into a small room that Lizzie assumed was an office.
Minutes later she came back with a sheet of paper. ‘Social Security number, and last known next of kin.’ Her hand lingered on the paper. ‘Do you fancy a coffee?’ she asked.
‘No, thank you, we need to try and track Paddy down,’ said Lizzie, and passed the sheet to Adam. ‘Can you phone the details in to Sam, please?’
Foster took the sheet then looked up at the careworn woman by the sink. ‘Are there any other people staying here that Paddy would count as friends?’
Poole filled the kettle and flicked the switch. She turned back towards them and leaned against the worktop. ‘They don’t really make friends, our residents, not like you and I would think of friends. They have a sort of instant camaraderie, a sharing of the same horror and shame that has brought them so low, but they’d steal the other guy’s last fiver to buy a bottle of cider without even thinking about it. They just get pissed, or high, complain about the state of the world, crash here and then go out and do it all again. Until they die.’ She added a large spoonful of coffee and a small spoonful of sugar to a mug that told the world she was its best mum. Stirring boiled water into the coffee, she gave a little laugh. ‘Jaundiced, moi?’ she said, and came back to the question. ‘Paddy is new here, he’s barely been around in the last few weeks, but he seems a nice character. Nicer than some.’
Lizzie gave an involuntary shudder, certainly nicer than one of the three she’d spoken to. ‘What about Spike? The guy with the staved-in head? He was with Paddy and Dimp when we saw them in the town centre last week.’ The thought of having to look at that empty eye socket, and put up with the inevitable verbal abuse, didn’t fill her with delight, but he might know something.
‘Hmm, Spike is hardly around either, and he doesn’t stay because he won’t part with that dog, even for one night, although we have a really good kennel out back. And he’s always high on something. No, if I’m on evenings, I’ll give him a meal but then he goes off on his own.’ She studied the wall for a moment. ‘You could try the raised-up chalet huts down by the beach – you know,’ she said to blank faces, ‘the ones set back from the road, near the life boat station? They’re all shut up at this time of the year, and I think Spike has a little den behind one of them where it’s dry and sheltered.’
Adam gave a muted cheer as they emerged from the hostel. ‘Positive ID on vic two. We’re on a roll.’
‘Yeah. Let’s see if we can find Paddy and round off a successful day, shall we?’
Adam parked on Marine Parade. ‘Don’t want to alert him by sticking it in the car park,’ he said.
‘And you don’t want to part with a quid, either, do you?’ said Lizzie, fastening her coat against the gale bellowing in from a grey and frothy sea. They walked through the car park to the far side where a short path led up to the chalets. ‘Right, you nip along to the far end of the chalets and walk back towards me. If he’s there, shout.’
Adam nodded, and trotted off towards the last chalet.
Lizzie stared at the sea, quelling her nervousness at the thought of the big dog and its foul owner, then walked cautiously behind the first chalet. There was little to see. The chalets formed a wide semicircle; each of them faced the sea. There were no back doors and no designated outdoor space at the rear, just a narrow path and a low wall holding back the hill behind. She stepped over an abandoned bin bag and crept along the rear wall. It was at that moment she heard a muffled yelp from Adam. She stood on her toes to listen better. What was the idiot up to?
She moved on, past the next chalet, but froze as she heard panting. Dog panting. Heading straight for her. Cursing, she whirled and set off at a run to get out of the narrow passage. She was too late, the whole weight of the animal crashed into her and knocked her to the floor. The dog didn’t stop, and neither did Spike, who came stumbling out and trod on Lizzie’s hand in his haste to escape.
Adam bowled up a second later and shot straigh
t past her. He didn’t even check to see if she was all right – just swerved to avoid her and ran on. ‘I’ll get him,’ he yelled.
It was her anger at Adam that forced a winded Lizzie to climb to her feet. Her left hand hurt like hell and was bleeding. She suspected that something was broken in there. Hobbling towards safety she almost missed a sound to her right, further along the row. She pushed back against the chalet wall and tried to control her gasping so she could listen. There it was again: a rustle and the sound of someone trying to move stealthily in the opposite direction. She placed her damaged hand into her pocket and went after the noise. ‘Paddy! Is that you?’ she shouted. ‘Paddy, don’t run. You’re not in trouble.’
She shuffled past a spiky shrub until she was halfway around the development of twenty chalets. There was a small space at the apex of the buildings, into which two sleeping bags had been squashed. She moved on. The noise got louder, he wasn’t trying to be quiet anymore. If it was Paddy, he was now running. Lizzie drew in a tentative breath, decided she was okay, and ran, shouting, ‘Please, we just want to help you.’
There was no more scuffling through undergrowth. He must have reached the path. Lizzie stood up, gathered herself together, and shot off round to the front of the chalets. Her breathing was still wheezy, but she figured she was a hell of a lot fitter than a middle-aged alkie, and she was bloody well going to catch him. She spotted him heading down the parade in a shuffling stagger towards the beach where the first victim had been found. ‘Stop, Paddy,’ she yelled. Where was he going to go?
Then she saw him swerve left to head along the prom. There was only the steep path up to Foxholes down there. She grinned, he’d never get up there before she did. She started after him and was completely stumped when Paddy abandoned his shuffle and shot down the prom like an Olympic athlete. ‘What the …?’ shouted Lizzie. ‘Stop,’ she yelled again, but Paddy was already running. Thinking fast, Lizzie rang Adam.
He answered, panting. ‘Lost him,’ he said.
‘Good. Come back and get the car, drive it up Foxholes to the top of the cliff path. Paddy’s legging it to the road. Quickly!’
Lizzie took a better breath and set off up the nearer path behind the chalets: she wanted to head him off before he got to the cliff top. She was fit, but she was a good minute behind Paddy. She calculated that her path was steeper, but quicker than his, and she might catch him. She just had to take the chance that he wouldn’t double back. She put her injured hand back into her pocket and ran.
The path was muddy and steep in places, but she kept her head down, passing dog walkers and proper runners. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of trainers. She could see the top of the rise in front of her and knew the footpath would meet the road somewhere near there. Her breath was coming in short gasps by the time she reached the summit, and she had to stop, bend over, and get her breath back.
It was from that position that she caught a glimpse of Paddy’s head as he clambered up the last few steps from the beach. Lizzie didn’t think she had enough energy to stop him. But then, he wouldn’t be in great shape after that run, would he? She crouched behind a shrub and waited until he was almost on her. He was looking behind him, probably wondering why she wasn’t following. Lizzie rose to a crouch and sprang to her feet, knocking Paddy off his feet.
He crashed onto his side and, to Lizzie’s relief, lay there wheezing and grimacing up at her, winded.
‘Paddy! Why did you run? We’re trying to protect you. You’re not in trouble you know.’
‘Dear God, I thought I was fit.’
Lizzie tossed her head in the direction of a wooden bench a few feet away. ‘Come on, let’s sit down over there, catch our breath,’ she said. ‘No one’s going to hurt you, Paddy.’
Paddy sank onto the bench wrapped his arms around his chest and began to mutter, ‘You’ve done it now, my boyo, done it now, you really have. So much for staying out of sight.’ He stopped talking and stared. Lizzie had taken her injured hand out of her pocket. ‘Did Spike do that to you?’
‘Spiked by Spike,’ she said, and summoned a pained smile. ‘I think he broke a bone. Look at the size of it already.’ Her hand had swollen into a puffy, filthy ball.
‘You’ll be needing to get that cleaned,’ Paddy said.
Foster drove up the hill towards them at speed. Lizzie waved him over and he parked across the grass verge. ‘Everything okay?’ he shouted.
‘Fine, but Paddy doesn’t think we need to look after him. Could you get a patrol car to take him in?’
While Foster rang for support, she turned to Paddy. ‘You’re not under arrest. We think you’re possibly the next victim for the so-called Fire Goddess. That’s why we were trying to find you. I need you to come into Exeter Road Station so we can find you a place of safety for a few days until we catch her. That’s all.’
‘She can’t possibly want me as she has no idea who I am,’ he said, ‘and I have no idea who she is.’ But the shift in his eyes away from hers told Lizzie a different story. Paddy knew exactly what she was talking about.
‘How do you know that?’ asked Lizzie. ‘We don’t think these murders are random, you know. We think homeless men are being targeted – two of your friends so far. That’s why we want you in custody, in case you can tell us who she is. So, have a think while you’re sitting there.’
Paddy stared at her. ‘Moose, and now Dimp?’
She nodded. ‘And I think you’re next.’ Her hand was throbbing. She wasn’t sure what else she should tell Paddy. He wasn’t a suspect but, if he was Tana’s next victim, he may hold the key to the whole mess.
Paddy sagged on the bench until he finally caught his breath. He gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, it looks as if you’ve got me, but you won’t want me, Miss. You really won’t. But perhaps it’s better if I come in at this point. Things having come to a head, as it were.’ He rolled both eyes towards the sky and squeezed them tight. ‘Ring your boss and say Poseidon 1824 to him, there’s a good girl.’ He took his phone, an up-to-date Samsung Lizzie noted, out of an inside pocket and sent a short text.
Lizzie stared at him. ‘What do you mean, Poseidon 1824? Who did you just text? And why don’t you sound like Paddy any more?’
‘Just do it, please. I can’t tell you anything, but you really do need to do it. Then it will all become clear. Go on, now.’
Frustrated, she rang Dan’s number. He was delighted to hear that they had found Paddy, but not as delighted that she was going to need a tetanus shot and cleaning up at the hospital. ‘But,’ she said, eager to change the subject, ‘Paddy wants me to say Poseidon 1824 to you, sir. He says it will all become clear very soon.’
She avoided Paddy’s gaze, walked across to look at the view out over the sea, and listened. ‘Not a clue, sir. He’s undergone a personality transplant. Weird, and just a bit suspicious. I’ve got a feeling he isn’t who I think he is. Anyway, I’m sending him in with a patrol car. Oh, they’re here now. See you later.’
32
Two hours later, with Lizzie’s hand cleaned and bandaged and both their stomachs full of food, Lizzie and Adam arrived back at the station where they were barred from entering the Major Incident room by Bill Larcombe, who stood, impassive, at the door.
‘What’s up, Sarge?’ asked Adam.
‘Is something going on?’ added Lizzie, taking in the dark suits that seemed to be sitting at all the computers.
‘You two are being waited for, upstairs in Chief Superintendent Oliver’s office,’ Larcombe said. ‘Hop to it, you wouldn’t want to keep the Chief Constable waiting, would you?’
Lizzie turned on her heel, fighting nausea. What the hell had she done? Was this about Paddy? Who exactly was he?
Adam hurried to catch her up at the stairs. ‘What’s going on? Is this about “Poseidon”?’
Lizzie ignored his question, heart hammering. ‘I’ve never been in Oliver’s office, have you?’
A slow dawning altered Adam’s face. ‘Blimey, no I have
n’t. How much trouble are we in?’
* * *
The door to the Chief Superintendent’s office was open, and they could hear voices and the chink of cups on saucers from inside. Stella, DCS Oliver’s secretary, came out of the office and beckoned the two DCs through.
They stood just inside the doorway, waiting to be noticed. Lizzie felt intimidated and she could feel Adam’s nervousness radiating through his suit. DCS Oliver was standing near a huge beech-coloured table, which was heaving with sandwiches, cakes, and jugs of tea and coffee. She was chatting to the Chief Constable and a man Lizzie had never seen before. DCI Hellier was sitting to one side, talking to a woman dressed in army uniform. There were two more men in army uniform standing near the table. They were eating sandwiches. Lizzie tugged on Adam’s sleeve and walked further into the room. She caught Oliver’s eye. ‘Ma’am,’ she said.
Julie Oliver excused herself, wiped her mouth and came towards them. ‘Come in, DCs Singh and Foster. Do you need a drink or a sandwich? I’m afraid Stella has somewhat over-catered.’
Lizzie stared at her boss, trying to read her expression, but the woman was wound up tight. ‘Thanks, ma’am,’ she said, holding up her bandaged left hand, ‘we ate at the hospital cafe.’
‘Right,’ said Oliver, raising her voice to include the others. ‘Shall we get started?’ She indicated two seats for Lizzie and Adam, closed the outer door and took her own usual chair at the top of the table. ‘Following your call to DCI Hellier, there has been quite a lot of frantic activity here at the station. Could you explain to the Chief Constable and these visitors exactly what happened this morning?’
Lizzie swallowed. Who on earth were these people? They were staring at her like she was the murderer, and three of them were standing guard at the windows and the door. ‘Yes, ma’am. Err … we had reason to believe that there was a pattern in the murders committed by the woman known as the Fire Goddess and her followers. We know the first victim, Simon Ongar, was an ex-marine, and have reason to think the second victim was, too. At the homeless hostel, we were able to identify the second murder victim as David Hamworthy, a missing homeless man. I thought there might be a link with the man we know as Paddy, as he was the friend of Hamworthy and Ongar.’
Death on the Coast Page 16