Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set

by Catherine Moloney

‘D’you really think Harte could’ve planned it all an’ then killed that nice fella, guv?’ Noakes echoed. ‘A slip of a lass like that . . . Jus’ cos Shawcross nicked her ideas . . .’

  ‘If Jenni loved Rebecca — really loved her — then it would have been the ultimate betrayal,’ Burton said. ‘When she discovered Rebecca was two-timing her with Leo Cartwright — and perhaps others for all we know — it must’ve hurt like hell . . .’

  Not for the first time, the DI wondered about Kate Burton’s own ‘backstory,’ so intuitive was her appreciation of the jealous torments Jenni Harte had endured.

  ‘And then . . . Rebecca was plundering Jenni’s intellectual property,’ Burton continued. ‘Lifting ideas from their sessions and using them for her book. That was a real breach of trust.’

  ‘How’d Jenni find out about that?’ asked Doyle.

  ‘Good point.’ Burton’s brow furrowed. ‘Maybe Rebecca left her notes lying around . . . or she could’ve let something slip in therapy . . .’

  ‘P’raps she said summat to one of her sixth-form students — couldn’t resist boasting about her Big Idea — an’ they blabbed . . . talked about it an’ Harte overheard.’

  ‘It could’ve happened like you say, sarge. But somehow or other Jenni got an inkling she was just a means to an end for Rebecca . . .’

  ‘How’d it work wi’ Pickering, then? I mean, her an’ Jenni Harte . . . if they weren’t . . . in a relationship?’ Noakes was genuinely puzzled by the dynamic between the two women.

  ‘Jenni must have found out about Jayne and Leo Cartwright,’ Burton replied. ‘Probably around the same time she worked out Rebecca was two-timing her with other people.’ Her tone regretful, she added, ‘Jenni’s good at making folk open up . . . the kind of person folk confide in.’

  ‘So she — what? — brainwashed her or summat . . .’

  ‘I’d say Jenni worked on Jayne’s feelings, sarge.’ Burton nodded vigorously. ‘Yes . . . she saw that Jayne was suggestible and stoked her jealousy of Rebecca . . . wound her up to the point where Jayne finally lost control.’

  ‘So . . . was Pickering one of Harte’s patients too?’ Noakes whipped out an out-sized handkerchief and bad-temperedly swabbed his sweating face.

  Burton thought intensely. ‘Hard to say,’ she said finally. ‘Maybe she was seeing her unofficially, like Rebecca . . . Or maybe she just befriended her for her own ends.’

  ‘Bloody cold customer,’ Noakes said. Then, ‘Hey, d’you reckon the two of ’em staged that business at the funeral? Y’know . . . when Pickering started screaming at Thelma an’ Shirley ’bout them being a pair of bitches an’ having it in for Shawcross . . .’

  ‘I have to say, that looked genuine,’ Burton answered slowly. ‘Jayne was genuinely distressed, and then Jenni Harte stepped in before it got out of hand.’

  ‘Mebbe the guilt was getting to her,’ Noakes opined sagely, ‘an’ Harte had to shut her down pronto before she got hysterical an’ landed ’em both in it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Burton agreed, ‘I think it was something like that . . . assuming Jayne had murdered Loraine by that point too. The funeral must have brought it all to a head somehow . . .’

  ‘How could she have done it . . . I mean, killed her own aunt like that . . . ?’ Doyle looked distinctly pale about the gills.

  ‘You want to toughen up, lad,’ said Noakes trenchantly. ‘It’s more’n likely family in most cases.’

  ‘Loraine was an impulse kill,’ the DI put in. ‘I would say unplanned.’ The pale features looked almost haggard, but he was increasingly master of the situation. ‘Jayne must have felt the net was closing in . . . that her aunt was mistrustful of her and Jenni. And she panicked.’ Voice shadowed, he added, ‘I slipped up badly there . . . focused on Maureen Stanley as the source of Loraine’s distress when all the time it was Jayne she was starting to doubt.’

  ‘Yeah, Loraine was a threat . . . who knew what the old biddy might’ve let slip,’ Noakes was increasingly taken by the scenario. ‘So Pickering pinched the atropine an’ . . . bingo!’ The DS mimed plunging a hypodermic into his arm.

  ‘You don’t believe Loraine was down to Jenni then, sir?’ Doyle’s expression clearly showed that he was struggling to see the gentle therapist, with her heart-shaped face and self-deprecating manner, as some kind of spree killer.

  ‘It’s possible, Doyle.’ Markham gave the query due consideration. ‘But Jayne was a healthcare assistant . . . It would’ve been straightforward for her to access the drugs store . . . whereas a therapist might’ve faced awkward questions . . .’ He loosened his tie as if, like Noakes’s, it suddenly felt too tight. The effect in Markham’s case was one of elegant dishevelment, whereas his sergeant bore a strong resemblance to the variety-hall ‘Dad’ on a saucy seaside postcard. Burton half expected her fellow DS to tie knots in the corners of his massive hankie and drape it over his head as a new fashion for summer headgear in CID . . .

  Blissfully unaware of his colleague’s sartorial appraisal, Noakes continued to thrash out the facts to his own satisfaction.

  ‘So Jenni didn’t do for Shawcross and Elford then, guv?’ He contemplated his stubby fingers, splayed on the table in front of him like so many chipolatas on a butcher’s slab.

  ‘No,’ Markham replied. ‘She was alibied for both murders by Tariq, remember? Working on a research paper when Rebecca was killed and consulting with him the morning that Elford died.’

  ‘Could he have covered for her, guv — Tariq, I mean? Said she was with him when she wasn’t . . . An’ then he had second thoughts about the alibis, so they had to shut him up.’

  Markham saw the handsome young Asian in his mind’s eye. ‘Tariq was the honourable type. No way would he have lied to the police.’

  ‘Isn’t it more likely Tariq contacted Jenni after he ran into Leo Cartwright at the sports centre? He must have challenged her about those references in the synopsis to Rebecca’s book,’ Burton interposed, tripping over the words in her vehemence.

  ‘Yes, I believe that’s what happened, Kate.’ The DI spoke with increasing conviction. ‘That memorable image jumped out at Tariq—’

  ‘The tangerine an’ golf ball—’ Noakes chipped in excitedly.

  ‘Jaffa orange and tumour,’ Burton amended with a long-suffering air.

  ‘Near as makes no difference . . . Anyway,’ her fellow DS declared with a flourish, ‘he pegged it as one of Harte’s poetic thingybobs right off an’ guessed she was somehow involved wi’ Shawcross but never said owt about it . . . which got him wondering why . . .’

  ‘He might’ve figured out the connection with Jayne too,’ Doyle mused. ‘Maybe like Loraine he’d picked up on something . . . Didn’t he and Jenni take Jayne home after that screaming match at the funeral, sir?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said the DI. ‘They volunteered to look after her and see she was alright. Tariq came back later by himself . . . said he’d left Jenni with Jayne because she was good in those kind of situations.’

  ‘The perfect opportunity for them to ’ave a little catch-up,’ Noakes observed grimly. ‘Proper little serial killers’ tea party.’

  ‘Perhaps something about the way they were with each other stuck in his mind,’ Doyle resumed. ‘And then when he saw that synopsis, he had a . . . well, a lightbulb moment.’

  ‘Shoulda kept it to himself or come to us ’stead of tackling Harte on his own,’ Noakes said grimly. ‘Frigging kamikaze that was.’

  ‘He might’ve hoped she could explain everything,’ Doyle countered. ‘It must have been a godawful shock . . . He likely wasn’t thinking straight.’

  ‘That seems a reasonable explanation, Doyle.’

  The DI was suddenly filled with pity for Tariq Azhar, recalling his gentle courtliness towards Shirley Bolton at the wake.

  ‘Tariq was a decent young man,’ he said pensively. ‘We’ll never know what was in his mind . . . Maybe he only made the connection between Jenni and Rebecca when he saw Jenni’s words staring
back at him in the synopsis for that novel.’ The well-shaped lips compressed tightly in an expression his colleagues knew all too well. Then he continued, ‘Or maybe he was already uneasy about her.’

  Maybe faint, unformed suspicions had been rising in his subconscious like bubbles in frogspawn. And then came the moment of illumination when all these subterranean, unthinkable misgivings suddenly gelled in one lightning instant of comprehension.

  ‘Shirley Bolton said she thought Tariq liked Rebecca,’ the DI said heavily. ‘He may have noticed Rebecca hanging about the surgery and thought nothing of it . . . failed to realize there was a hidden attraction . . . until he was confronted with Jenni’s words in black and white, smack bang in Rebecca’s outline for The Amber Tells.’

  ‘Yeah, guv.’ Noakes thumped the table in assent. ‘They were meant to be close friends an’ all. So he gotta have wondered why she never said anything about being close to Shawcross . . . why she was so sneaky about it . . .’

  ‘It’s unethical to have a sexual relationship with someone you’re counselling, isn’t it?’ said Doyle, the bushy-tailed law student. ‘I mean, you can be struck off.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Markham went on piecing it together. ‘Tariq must have guessed something like that lay behind Jenni’s silence.’

  ‘And don’t forget that burglary,’ Burton put in. ‘There was the theft of all the appointment books . . . She must’ve put down something compromising . . . something personal in writing that Peter Elford knew about . . . so then she or Jayne stole all the diaries so she wouldn’t stand out and we couldn’t trace anything back to her.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But when Tariq had his lightbulb moment, he worked out what she’d done—’

  ‘And figured that Peter Elford died because he knew the secret and was blackmailing her,’ finished Doyle.

  ‘D’you think Tariq worked out that it was Jayne did the killings after Jenni talked her into it?’ Noakes ran a sweaty paw through his hair whose porcupine quills would have done any punk rocker proud. ‘I mean, like, sussed whatever creepy stuff was going on between the two of ’em?’

  ‘Well, he knew Jenni’s alibi was solid for Rebecca and Peter Elford because she was with him,’ Markham replied. ‘Which would have led him to the conclusion that someone else was involved.’ He gestured to the DC. ‘And as Doyle said before, it’s very possible that, like Loraine, he sensed something wasn’t right with Jayne.

  ‘And the anxieties that had lain dormant within Tariq suddenly reared up before him in one devastating revelation after that fateful meeting with Leo Cartwright.

  ‘Maybe right up to the last moment he hoped it wasn’t true,’ the DI said slowly. ‘He and Loraine were good people . . . reluctant to believe the worst . . . he must desperately have hoped the nightmare could be explained away.’

  ‘Only it couldn’t,’ Noakes said baldly.

  ‘Jenni was his old friend.’ This was Burton. ‘Maybe he wanted to give her a chance to turn herself in . . . do the right thing . . . persuade Jayne it was all over.’

  The DI recalled the look on Loraine Thornley’s face. Her eyes dilated into pools of horror as though the dead midwife had looked into an abyss.

  ‘Jayne Pickering is a very dangerous young woman,’ he enunciated, the words like hammer strokes.

  ‘Jenni Harte was her Svengali,’ Burton added. ‘That’s—’

  But before she could translate for Noakes’s benefit, the other drew himself up. ‘I know what that is,’ he said complacently. ‘A sort of hypnotist — like Paul McKenna.’ Gratified at the discombobulation of his colleagues, he elaborated, ‘The missus swears by his tapes . . . allus listening to ’em in the car. She went to one of his shows . . . he got a bloke on stage thinking he was a dog.’ Clearly something about this story tickled Noakes’s fancy, but he became solemn once more. ‘D’you think that’s what happened with Jenni Harte an’ Pickering then, guv . . . was it some kind of trance thingy?’

  ‘Not as such, Noakes.’ The DS looked disappointed. ‘But autosuggestion and regression can undoubtedly be deployed for evil purposes,’ Markham said hastily before Kate Burton could unleash the benefits of her BA (Hons) degree in psychology upon them. Though from the intrigued expressions of Noakes and Doyle, he suspected she might find fertile ground for a mini lecture in due course.

  ‘We don’t know when precisely Jenni learned what Rebecca Shawcross was up to . . . or when Leo Cartwright ended his relationship with Jayne, for that matter.’ The DI stood up and began to pace in front of his office window with its unrivalled view of the station car park. Then he wheeled round on them. ‘But whatever the time scale, somehow Jenni prepared the ground so that Jayne was responsive when the moment came . . . bitter about being dumped by Leo, deeply resentful of Rebecca . . . and in thrall to her mentor.’

  For a time, the four detectives said nothing. Outside a dull, louring sky pressed down upon the station, trapping it in a vault of oppressive silence. In Markham’s office the stuffy air felt acrid and difficult to breathe. Or maybe, the DI reflected, it was the effect of their disquiet. He felt oddly isolated from the outer world where ordinary people were going busily about their weekend tasks.

  Then suddenly the air was filled with the sound of a soft, quick pattering and there came a kettledrum rumble. ‘That’s thunder,’ Noakes spoke with relish. ‘Jus’ like guns firing.’

  Outside the sky seemed to sink ever closer to the ground.

  The thunder crashed and pealed.

  Unlike Noakes, Kate Burton hated storms. As she sat in Markham’s office, transfixed, it felt as though some vengeful gathering of hidden deities were converging to destroy them. Naturally she shared nothing of these fancies with her fellow officers for fear of ridicule, though something about the DI’s face told her he shared that sense of helpless impotence in the face of cosmic fury.

  She braced herself for lightning, but it never came. There was just the rain coming down faster and faster until it was a solid sheet deluging the station. Outside, the regiment of leylandii that screened the police station from Bromgrove High Street buckled beneath the drenching onslaught, bending and bowing before the storm.

  Nature’s discord jolted Markham from the lethargy that seemed to hold them spellbound.

  Returning to his chair, he said, ‘We need a plan.’

  ‘Harte an’ Pickering don’ know we’re on to ’em,’ Noakes observed.

  ‘When I was sorting the car for Leo Cartwright, I warned him not to say anything about coming to see us.’

  ‘Can he be trusted to stick to that, Kate?’

  ‘I reckon so, sir.’ She rumpled her pageboy vigorously as though to clear her head. ‘He looked properly scared . . . I think he’ll stay well clear of anything to do with the centre.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘You said Pickering’s dangerous, boss. What if she decides to do another?’ Doyle interjected.

  Markham toyed with the idea of surveillance before abandoning it. Such a move would only bring Sidney down on them like a ton of bricks. He could almost hear the cobra-like hiss of outrage likely to greet the revelation that his prime suspects were medical personnel. If anything was likely to trigger a premature transfer of the case to Blethering Bretherton, that was it.

  ‘I don’t think they’ll move against anyone else for now, Doyle,’ he said quietly. ‘Killing Azhar will have cost them . . . physically and emotionally . . . They’ll be spent . . .’ He hoped to God it was true. ‘But you’re right about the danger. I want them out of circulation as soon as possible.’

  ‘Can’t we bring them in now, guv?’

  ‘What have we got, Noakes? I mean, what have we really got?’ He spoke in a low strained voice. ‘We can’t go to the CPS with stuff about metaphors and Jaffa oranges . . . we’d be laughed out of court.’

  The DS looked mutinous. ‘Harte was involved with Shawcross an’ kept it a secret . . . Pickering was dumped by Leo Cartwright an’ likely hated Shawcross cos she an’ him were at it like knives
. . .’ Not the happiest expression in the circumstances. ‘An’ Shawcross pinched the therapy stuff for her novel.’

  ‘All circumstantial I’m afraid, Sergeant. A smart brief will have an answer for everything.’

  ‘And in forensic terms, like Dimples said, we’re not likely to get anything . . . or at least nothing that can’t be accounted for by DNA transfer or cross-contamination.’ Burton was glum.

  ‘Mebbe we c’n break Pickering’s alibis.’

  ‘Unlikely, Sergeant . . . especially with Loraine Thornley gone.’

  ‘Wotcha saying then, boss?’ Noakes’s tone was defiant. ‘I mean, we can’t jus’ wait till one of ’em decides to confess . . . they ain’t as screwy as all that.’

  ‘No . . . I don’t think there’s much likelihood of a confession,’ Markham agreed. He still found it almost impossible to believe Jenni Harte complicitous in the murder of her gentle co-worker, but his gut told him it was true. He imagined the therapist posing Tariq Azhar’s corpse with the same deft precision she brought to her horticultural projects and shivered convulsively.

  ‘What if we pulled ’em in . . . tole them what we’ve got . . . Cartwright meeting Azhar an’ showing him that stuff in the synopsis . . . ?’

  ‘We could try.’ Markham felt unaccountably weary, as though sandbags were attached to his limbs. He became aware of the other three looking at him expectantly. ‘But they’d be lawyered up in no time . . . and then it’d be “No comment” all the way. We haven’t got enough and they know it.’

  ‘What about divide and conquer, boss?’ Doyle too was in never-say-die mode. ‘We could try and turn them against each other. Jayne’s quite young, isn’t she? Twenty or so and under Jenni’s thumb. Apply the right pressure . . . she might just crack.’

  Markham recalled Rebecca Shawcross’s funeral service and those empty zonked-out eyes . . . but Jayne Pickering had gone on to kill again.

  ‘Jenni Harte has a powerful hold over that girl,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah . . . Svengali,’ concurred Noakes, rolling the word round his mouth as though he liked the sound of it.