Sarah stared at the logs burning in the stove.
“Jack, you must have had dead ends like this back in the day, right?” said Sarah. “What did you used to do?”
She watched him get up, open the stove and put another log in, pushing at the hot embers.
On the sofa, Riley stirred, opened one eye to check what was happening, then went back to sleep.
“Dead end? Only thing you can do,” said Jack, returning to the table, “is go right back to the beginning, start again. Like turning these embers, stirring the fire.”
“With Len?”
“Yeah, if we can get an interview. After all that we’ve learned, I’m pretty sure he’s holding back on us — though I have no idea why.”
“Maybe because he actually killed Sally?”
“I just don’t believe that,” said Jack. “Do you?”
“No.”
She stood up, piled the plates and took them over to the tiny sink to wash.
“Coffee?” said Jack, at her side, filling the kettle.
“Think tea will do me, this time of night.”
“So,” he said. “We got a plan. Half a one, anyway.”
“Back to square one and maybe something will turn up?” said Sarah, hopefully.
“Only shot we got,” said Jack, reaching up for the biscuit tin.
12. An Unexpected Visitor
When Sarah got to the office early next morning, Grace was already there, earbuds in, working at her computer.
Amazing she even showed up for work, thought Sarah.
But she noticed that her assistant didn’t look over at her.
“Morning,” Sarah said quietly.
Grace just nodded, but, after a moment, her face showing the signs of what had probably been a rough night, she spoke.
“Mr Standish called. Said it was urgent. Wants you to pop over to his office straight away.”
The voice flat, chilly.
“Really?” said Sarah, doing her best to not overreact. “Did he say what it was about?”
But Grace just shrugged and turned back to her keyboard.
Sarah checked her watch.
Eight-thirty.
Very early start for Tony.
This must be urgent indeed.
*
Jack sat again in the cheap plastic chair in the interview room of Banbury station, waiting for Len.
Tony had pulled some strings overnight to get Jack an early meeting slot.
A second shot at getting the truth from Len.
Which was good, because according to the office on the front desk, Len was due to be transferred that evening to a holding centre at Heathrow airport.
Time’s running out, thought Jack.
He heard the door to the cells click, and looked up to see Len being led in by two officers.
He looked to Jack like he hadn’t eaten or slept for a week.
He sat on the other side of the interview table.
“Len.”
“Jack.”
“You holding up?”
“Not so good,” said Len and Jack could see he was blinking back tears.
This wasn’t going to be easy, but Jack knew this interview might be Len’s last chance.
Jack wasted no time, hoping Len would pick up on Jack’s seriousness.
“Last time I was here, Len, I asked you what you could remember about that weekend.” Jack took a breath. “And you told me you couldn’t remember anything.”
“That’s right.”
Jack looked away, winced. For Len’s benefit, before another deep breath, Jack leaned forward, close to Grace’s dad.
“I think you were lying, Len. I think you know some things that you didn’t tell me. And right now I need you to tell me the truth. All of it. Because if you don’t—”
Jack let the idea dangle. Len knew he would soon be off to Heathrow.
Jack managed a smile, somehow trying to reassure the man that everything would be okay.
But Jack was anything but sure about that.
“So — how about we start from the beginning again?”
*
Sarah nodded at Tony’s long-standing secretary, who — this morning at least — wore a worried smile, and nodded to Sarah that she should go straight through to Tony’s office.
But when she tapped on Tony’s door and entered the room she stopped cold.
Tony sat there at his old leather-topped desk, facing a young woman who turned at Sarah’s entry.
For a minute Sarah thought, what in the world is Grace doing here?
All sorts of odd thoughts went through Sarah’s head until she realised … the hair colour was different, more of a light brown. But the dark eyes, the face, looking so close to Grace’s.
And yet it wasn’t Grace.
Tony stood up, and filled the gap.
“Sarah, thank you for coming in straight away. This is, um, Maria Jimenez.”
Sarah nodded.
Tony, as ever, observed the niceties. “Perhaps I can get you a tea, and do sit …”
The only chair was quite close to this Maria Jimenez, the woman’s eyes now narrowed to a questioning, even accusatory stare.
Sarah declined the tea as she took the seat. “No, Tony, I’m good. Just curious. What’s up?”
For Sarah’s part she couldn’t take her eyes off the young woman. Beautiful to be sure, but looking so similar to her assistant it was shocking.
“Ms Jimenez just arrived, early flight. From Spain, Sarah.”
Tony said that as if Sarah should connect some dots.
“You see, Sarah, the woman that was found, Sally Hayes? She was Ms Jimenez’s mother. Though when her mother, um, disappeared, she was raised by a … Nonna Jimenez.”
Sarah nodded as if this all made some kind of sense. But there was still the obvious question. Why was this young woman here?
“Hello, Maria.” That itself sounded weird. “I am so sorry about …”
And now the young woman — in a voice tinged with a Catalan accent, Sarah thought — spoke quickly.
“I have come here to see the face of the man who killed my mother. See his face, look him in the eyes — before the Spanish police lock him up and throw away the key.”
And at that, Sarah took a deep breath.
*
Len rubbed the stubble on his chin, his eyes sunken.
Jack waited.
He’d listened as Len repeated what he’d said at the first interview.
About the gigs that weekend all those years ago, how he’d discovered Sally was missing, and how he’d left Ibiza.
Then — finally — he’d watched as Len sat back in the tiny plastic chair, folded his arms.
“Look, Jack, the past is the past. That’s the way I lived my life. Made a new life with Lizzie, then Grace. Life — it’s been good, you know. And all those years of craziness … the drugs. Behind me.”
Jack nodded, nothing new there. Again, he’d refrained from asking any questions, just waiting to see what Len would say.
But now, he realised, if he had any chance of getting Len to open up — he was going to have to switch tactics.
“Okay Len,” he said, nodding. “I get it that you don’t remember Ibiza so good. But how about when you came back here. When you were in the hospital?”
“Hospital?” said Len, looking nervous.
“Sure. The one where you met Lizzie.”
“Right, yeah.”
“The one where Micky Hooke came one day to visit. To threaten you.”
“Micky …?”
“Yeah, Micky, and his friend Tigz.”
Jack could see Len trying to figure out what Jack knew — and maybe how much.
“You remember Micky and Tigz — don’t you, Len?”
“The names? No, I don’t think—”
Jack took out his phone, held up the photo of the five of them, nearly 30 years ago, a lifetime ago.
Micky, Tigz, Len, Sally. And the mystery woman.
“Where did you get that?” said Len, frowning.
“Not important, Len,” said Jack. Then he pointed to the figures on the screen. “Recognise them now?”
“Um, yeah. Sally, yes.”
“And the two guys, Len? The two guys with their arms round your shoulders?”
“Yeah, Micky. I remember now.”
“And Tigz.”
“Yeah, and Tigz.”
“That’s good, Len,” said Jack. “Because they sure remember you.”
“What?” said Len, and Jack heard real alarm in his voice. “You’ve actually seen them?”
“Oh yes. And you know what? They both said ‘Jack, if you see Len, send him our special regards, won’t you’. Isn’t that nice? They must have been real good friends, to remember you after all these years, Len.”
Len looked anxiously at the bored policeman in the corner, then back to Jack.
“They really say that, Jack? What else they say?”
Jack knew he had no choice now but to follow his instincts.
“Oh, they told me a lot, Len. About the money. The drugs. The deals.”
He watched Len’s reaction to those last words carefully.
Yes, this is what Len’s hiding, this has to be what the lies are about …
And knowing he had to keep pushing, pushing, if Len was to tip over — and finally talk.
He tapped on the image on his phone.
“One big happy family, eh, Len? You, Sally, Micky and Tigz. Or maybe — not so happy? What did Micky say to you at the hospital that day that scared you so much?”
*
Sarah listened to the woman in Tony’s office — thinking that Tony Standish must be thinking the same thing. That this woman, here to confront Len, must surely be … his daughter.
For now, Sarah kept that idea to herself.
“I had just turned three, you see. And that man took away my real mother.” The next words she spat out: “Killed her.”
Sarah nodded. “I understand.” She pivoted to Tony. “Tony, you asked me here …?”
Tony cleared his throat. Though always helpful to Jack and her, Tony never really got involved in any of their work on cases.
“I told Ms Jimenez here that you didn’t think Len Taylor, um, committed the crime. And that — for a number of reasons — you should meet her.”
“Of course he murdered her,” Maria said, the words fiery and fast. “They have his fingerprints on the knife.” Then louder. “He killed her.”
Sarah nodded — for it certainly seemed that way.
Sarah guessed that if she and Jack had learned anything exonerating Len, it would be good to share it with the daughter of the victim.
But though she felt they were getting close to something — there was so far really nothing substantial to share.
It still looked like an open and shut case against Len.
Then Sarah had an idea. She slipped out her phone.
And showed Maria Jimenez the picture.
Len and the others in Ibiza, such a long time ago.
Would Maria know of any them, remember them, even though she was so young?
Doubtful, thought Sarah
So very doubtful.
Maria took Sarah’s phone, held it, eyes locked on the photo.
“Which one is him? The murderer?”
Sarah winced at the words. “Len Taylor? To the far right.”
Maria nodded.
And Sarah wondered — although Maria had only been three years old — might she remember?
“What about the other people in the photo, Maria? Do any of them look familiar?”
Maria peered at the photo. “Don’t know any of the other men. My mother, yes, she is there. And the other woman, yes.”
Sarah’s eyes suddenly went wide.
Was this the breakthrough she and Jack had been waiting for?
“You remember her?”
“Called her my ‘Aunt Pammy’. She was fun, a little crazy. Got on with my mum, I guess. They used to go off together. Leave me with Nonna. After my mother died, I think maybe Pammy stayed around on the island for a year or two. But Nonna … she was the only one who really cared. Really raised me. But yeah, that’s Aunt Pammy all right.”
And for the first time in this incredibly frustrating investigation, Sarah thought this could be important.
She reached across and gently took the phone back — swiped up, went to messages, and fired a quick text to Jack.
Explain later — but our mystery blonde woman — name is Pammy. Will send more as I find it.
13. Len Breaks
Jack read the text from Sarah, then casually put his phone away. Len had started to lie again — or rather, his memory seemed to have magically faded.
Tick-tock …
So they finally had another name for the mystery woman. Big question: was this “Pammy” alive? Could she be found?
Whatever — Len wasn’t to know that.
“Oh — one thing I forgot to tell you,” said Jack. “Sarah and I — we’re going to see Pammy this afternoon.”
“Pammy?” said Len, suddenly alert again. “Pammy Draper?”
A surname. But Jack didn’t react.
“Yeah. Pammy Draper. Ibiza Pammy — remember?”
“Yeah, sure. How’d you find her?”
“Wasn’t hard.”
“You spoke to her?”
“Not yet,” said Jack.
Jack watched Len carefully. The man’s mind was clearly racing. That one name — had it broken the log-jam?”
He watched Len reach forward, pour himself a plastic beaker of water from the plastic bottle.
“She in England?”
Jack nodded, sensing that Len was on the edge.
“She seemed pretty keen to talk, Len. And I’m thinking — whatever it is you’re trying to hide, whatever your reasons, it’s all about to come out anyway.”
Jack watched as Len put his head in his hands.
“Take your time Len,” he said. And as Len wrestled with his decision, Jack slipped out his phone and texted Sarah the two words: Pammy Draper.
*
Sarah stared at the text from Jack, then stood up.
“Maria. I’m sure Tony here can arrange for you to see Len Taylor, before he leaves with the police. Right Tony?”
Tony nodded.
“But that might not be till late. Maria, do you have a place to stay here in Cherringham?”
Again, for a second it was as if Sarah was talking to Grace.
“No, I just took a flight and …”
“I have a spare room in my place,” said Sarah. “You could get some rest. I’ll stay in touch with Tony. My daughter’s there right now. I can fix you some lunch later?” Then with a smile. “What do you say?”
And with that kind offer, some of the fire left Maria.
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
“Good. Now, that message I just got.” She shot a look to Tony. “It might be important. Let me run you over to my place, but give me five minutes to do something first, okay?”
Again, a nod from the woman.
“Well, then,” Tony said, the air now a bit calmer, “I do believe now would be a perfect time for a pot of tea.”
And as Tony saw to that, Sarah dashed to his outer office grabbed a seat in the corner and took out her phone again.
It would be a little harder searching for that name, the history, the possibilities on a phone.
But — she thought — doable.
*
“Okay,” said Len, running his hand through his hair and then leaning forward. “When I told you that I remembered nothing about that weekend? Not totally true, Jack. You’re right. Me and the amigos — we all had something going down that weekend.”
“Amigos?” Jack said.
“Yeah, the Five Amigos. That’s what we called ourselves. Me, Micky, Tigz, Sally, Pammy. We were tight.”
“In a lot of things? Like, maybe, drugs?” Jack let the
implication hang. “So, this thing you had going down? Wanna tell me about that, Len?”
Jack saw him take a deep breath then glance across at the cop, as he lowered his voice.
“Here’s how it was. That Sunday there was a big deal being set up. I had a ton of money from the gigs, you know? And this deal, it was going to set us up for life. Couldn’t say no. But then, the Saturday night, things started to go wrong. I got so wasted. I didn’t mean to, I just lost it. I still don’t know how. But I was totally out of it. So the others — Micky, Tigz, Pam, Sally — they said they could handle it all.”
“Deal? You mean you weren’t just buying, you were selling too?”
“Enough to supply the whole island for the summer, and double, triple what I got on the decks. But, you see—” Len looked away. “Never happened, Jack. The deal never went down. The money gone. Sally gone too. They said she vanished with it. They told me, soon as I came out of my stupor. I reported her missing anyway. Micky, Tigz, knew nothing, since we figured Sally had run with the cash, you see? All of us scammed, we thought. But now—”
“Turns out she was murdered.”
“I know,” said Len, shaking his head, his eyes lost. “And all this time, I thought Sally had …”
“What about when Micky came to the hospital? What did he say to you?”
“He said the guys in Spain — the guys with the drugs — were onto us. Were going to kill us. Said we should never get in contact again. Ever. Scared the hell out of me.”
“Len, another point,” said Jack quickly, keeping the pressure on. “That knife? Your fingerprints on it. Pretty damning. Anything you can tell me about that?”
Len shook his head.
“No. Honest truth, Jack. Don’t know how the damn thing got there. All I know, as much as I know anything, was that I didn’t kill Sally.”
Jack nodded.
“I believe you, Len,” he said.
Len nodded, and Jack thought, slumped over, eyes downcast, he looked like a man who realised it was all over.
Only a Spanish jail waiting — for the rest of his life.
Jack stood up.
“Len, I want you to know, Sarah and me, we’re doing our absolute best. And I think what you told me just now, everything you remember, well — let’s all hope it helps.”
Len nodded. “Jack, no matter what happens, I can’t thank you enough.” His voice was shaking.
Cherringham--Murder under the Sun Page 8