“Food’s ready and waiting.”
Her face fell. “Oh God, am I late? I spent so long trying to find the right footwear.” She did an impromptu dance.
“Nah, you’re fine,” he spluttered. “I mean, it’s fine. I ordered early to save time.” He heard his voice like a stranger’s. God almighty — stop talking. “Come in.” He took her coat, showed her to the table, draped her coat on a spare chair and waltzed off to the kitchen, swiftly returning with two plates held in oven-gloved hands. “Drink?”
“Not right now, maybe later.” She made it sound a tantalising prospect, which was a hard sell for his supermarket plonk. “This smells great.”
He loved the way she ate with abandon. Steph used to go through a napkin routine that drove him to distraction. It was like eating with a Buddhist monk. Caitlin, on the other hand, got straight to it. He wondered if that came from working in a café.
She broke off a piece of poppadom and scooped up some curry with the shard. “How was your day — solve many crimes?”
“Less than the public would like to think! Same old, same old.”
“Are you on the big case — the one everyone is talking about?”
He choked a little and picked a caraway seed out of his mouth. “I can’t really say anything . . .”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I imagine your job must be fascinating. The high points of mine today were locating a child’s missing soft toy — on a chair pushed under a table — and seeing two teenagers fall in love over chocolate cake.”
The way she said it, he could almost picture it.
“I nearly forgot,” she cut a point off a samosa, “your guitarist friend did a guest spot in the courtyard for half an hour. Surprised to see him really, after his family tragedy.”
Wild’s interest was piqued. Had she been keeping watch on his accord? “You’ve the makings of a good detective!”
“Is that what you always wanted to be? A detective, I mean.”
“Not exactly.” He took a mouthful of jalfrezi. “Before I joined up, I was a postman.”
She toasted him with a samosa. “Quite a career change.”
He smiled noncommittally. He’d heard them all before: a first- or second-class policeman, a man of letters, did he get the sack from his old job . . . ? Oh yeah, and had he abandoned his post? When he arrived at CID no one cared about his previous jobs. He’d reached the hallowed ground of becoming a plainclothes detective. No one really noticed him at all until Steph came along.
Wild became aware that no one had spoken for a while. Time to breach the silence that even Mick Hucknall couldn’t fill. “What led you to working in the café?” He tried to sound sincere and congratulated himself on avoiding the ‘how did you end up’ bear trap. One glance at her face, as the walls went up, told him there was a story there but maybe some other time.
“Oh, you know. Things happen and before you know it you are somewhere you never expected to be. No complaints in that regard tonight, by the way. We have food, we have wine and we have darts.”
“And choc ices.”
Mick Hucknall’s became the only voice again, declaring that he’d wasted all his years. Wild loved that song with its mixture of melancholy and hope. After Steph left, he’d played that album to within an inch of its digital life, and that particular track became an anthem. Hearing it now, he felt only mild embarrassment.
“I, er, dug out a spare set of darts if you do still fancy a game later?”
She finished chewing. “Sure.” She smiled. “If you’re feeling lucky?”
He blushed and she seemed to take delight in it. Normally on a date, if that’s what this was, he expected to feel less tense as the evening wore on. Not here though. Caitlin wielded her confidence the same way she had in the café, like an acrobat’s baton. Dinner led to a glass of wine on the sofa with more chat and a change of music. She chose the Beatles’ red compilation from his meagre collection.
They skipped dessert in favour of the dartboard, punctuating their banter with metal points. He won the first game easily, of course he did, but she stepped up for a rematch undaunted. She was about to play again when his mobile bleeped at full volume from the other side of the room.
“Sorry, it’s my work phone.”
She carried on throwing her darts.
Marsh’s text wasted no words. Arrests at seven thirty. Be in at six thirty. He glanced at the clock on his phone. Already after ten. Tricky.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah.” He felt his face betraying him. “Boss wants me in especially early tomorrow, before seven.”
She looked impressed. “Sounds ominous. Maybe it’s a manhunt. Perhaps I’ll see you on the telly!”
He didn’t answer, which somehow felt worse than a denial. He racked his brains to try to remember whether he’d said anything about what he was working on.
She subtracted her score on the chalk tally. “We can always finish this some other time.”
He let his darts do the talking, extending his lead — reluctantly — to a three-dart finish. “Tell you what, I’ll make it up to you — dinner at the weekend, anywhere you like. Well, except the George. I’m not too popular there!”
“I’d take that as a compliment. It’s an old fogeys’ pub — from what I hear.”
Somehow, by the time she edged towards the door, he was less certain about her than ever. Were they mates or were they dates?
“Look, Craig, sorry again about the work thing. Didn’t mean to pry. Let’s get together soon, yeah?”
“I’d like that.”
She seemed to be waiting, hand on the door handle, so he moved towards her and closed the gap. One kiss that made his heart pound in his chest and then she slipped away like a phantasm.
Chapter 38
Wild half-remembered a dream about a fire alarm interrupting some sofa time with Caitlin. He opened and closed his eyes with effort, as if building up the muscles. His bedside alarm screamed at him and he realised he hadn’t dreamt it — this was the second act, after the snooze button. He scrambled out of bed and got ready, making do with a wash before he found a shirt that didn’t need ironing. Well, not much. A jacket hid the worst of it.
He needed food but what he wanted was caffeine. Plates, glasses and takeaway trays littered the kitchen table. He ignored them and grabbed a cup of instant coffee, topped up with some cold water to save time, and then a quick run with a toothbrush and he was good to go.
Although the car clock read 06.10, traffic was non-existent. That made for plenty of thinking time, mostly about Caitlin. She seemed so devoid of baggage it unnerved him. Must have been a painless divorce — so they did exist. No mention of kids, which put them at level pegging. A momentary thought about Steph embarking on that path and he banished it with the radio.
Mayberry police station shone out like a beacon. As he dragged himself up the stairs his stomach sang at the sweet and salty aroma of bacon. He followed his nose to the briefing room where DI Marsh presided over the banquet.
“Right, come on, settle down. Tea or coffee and grab a roll — bacon or egg.”
Wild commandeered a bacon roll and a cup of tea and accompanied them to an empty space. Marnie Olsen appeared out of nowhere and sat beside him.
“Morning.” She tilted towards him. “I need to have a word with you, Craig. Not here.”
DI Marsh tapped the top of her pen on a table. The seven people in the room fell silent.
“Okay, thank you for giving up your beauty sleep, ladies and gentlemen. We have two objectives for this morning. Firstly, the arrests of Gordon Elleth and Edwin Causly, in connection with the death of Alexander Porter and for further questioning about the death of Dr James Walsh. Secondly, the gathering of evidence at their home addresses. DS Wild, DC Galloway and PC Olsen will attend at the Elleth farmhouse. I will go with Sergeant Galloway, DC Harris and PCSO Wishaw to pick up Edwin Causly. Two vehicles apiece to contain the suspects and effect the search. A
ny questions?”
DC Harris glanced around him before tentatively raising a hand. “What evidence are we looking for?”
Wild’s mouth slipped into gear. “Shotguns, obviously, and any coats. If either suspect was present at Porter’s death, there may be blood specks for forensics.” He looked over at Marsh, who nodded slowly in encouragement. “There should be a black cross on the wall in each house somewhere, downstairs probably — bag them up. Could be others in other rooms. Expect some grief on religious grounds but take them anyway.” He fancied he could see the backs of Ben Galloway’s ears reddening.
The PCSO waggled a pen. “What about other people at the house?”
Marsh raised a finger towards Wild and he realised her arm was out of the sling. “Elizabeth Elleth should be no trouble. If anyone comes in from the field, keep them at arm’s length. Arrest is a last resort.” The fateful finger swung round to PCSO Lisa Wishaw. “As for Edwin Causly, there’s only agricultural labour. Same deal.” Marsh finished her tea. “Okay, downstairs in five minutes.”
* * *
Wild drove with Olsen, Ben Galloway following them in a marked car. “What did you want to say?”
Olsen flipped down the sun visor mirror and glanced back at Galloway, noting his fingers on the wheel at the recommended ten and two positions. “I forgot to tell you that I burned your Skype details, in case you were wondering.”
Wild’s blank expression surprised her.
“Remember your trip to London, when I rang you on the M4? Didn’t you wonder how I knew Jackie had been in touch and what she’d said?”
Come to think of it, he hadn’t. He pursed his lips. Sloppy.
“You must have wondered . . . Wild?”
He hunched in his shoulders a little. “Slipped my mind at the time. I had other things to think about.” He changed tack and moved the spotlight. “So, had any job offers from London?” He smiled to soften the sarcasm. It didn’t seem to help any.
Her lip curled. “Not yet. How about you?”
Touché, Ms Olsen. “I expect mine’s stuck in the post somewhere.”
Olsen laughed and the muscles in her face softened. “Looks like we’ll be on the same team for a while, then. I suppose I’ve worked with worse.”
* * *
Wild pulled up and waited for Ben Galloway to join them. In the meantime, he radioed through to Marsh. “We’re in position, ma’am.” He glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Ben’s coming up the track.”
“Give it four more minutes and then go. And, Wild, try not to make any more enemies.”
“Understood,” he lied.
Ben Galloway looked distinctly uncomfortable as he got out of the car. Wild let him open the gate and the three of them walked in a line towards the farmhouse. It reminded Wild of a dodgy cowboy film. He watched the smoke rise up from the flue, pale as poison in an otherwise cloudless sky.
The dogs barked long before they reached the front door. Only a cry for attention, Wild judged — pepper spray not required. He rapped the heavy door knocker twice, sending the dogs into a conniption. A woman’s voice rose above the din and the house went eerily silent before a key stiffly turned.
Mrs Elleth faced them. She seemed, to Wild, both weathered and majestic. As if nothing he had to say mattered to her. He put it to the test, introducing his fellow officers and stating the reason for their presence so early in the morning.
She took her hand off the door and headed back towards the kitchen. “Gordon’s not here. He left not long after sun-up.”
Wild applied some charm. “Is he out in the field?”
She stopped walking and the two dogs gathered at her feet, eyeing her intently. “Shouldn’t think so. Said he had something to attend to and went out. Didn’t even have his breakfast.”
Wild felt a sudden feeling of dread. “How . . . how did he seem?”
She carried on into the kitchen. “Seemed alright when he left.”
Wild gestured for Galloway to go outside and ring DI Marsh with the bad news. Olsen squeezed past him with a plastic box containing evidence bags.
Mrs Elleth stood by the kitchen range. “You be wanting tea before you go?”
Olsen glanced at Wild and nodded, deciding it was a good way to keep her occupied. “Yes, please — all three, milk and one sugar.”
Galloway returned and called Wild over to the doorway. “DI Marsh reckons Mr Causly isn’t at home either. We’re to gather evidence and see if Mrs Elleth knows anything.”
Wild went through the formalities and then asked questions that Mrs Elleth couldn’t answer, apart from the most important one: where was the gun and were any others kept on the farm? He had expected resistance when Olsen collected it to bag it up, but she saved that for when Ben Galloway removed the black cross from the wall. Wild sipped his tea as she berated Galloway for putting his job before his faith. On that basis alone, Wild figured he owed him a drink.
Mrs Elleth insisted she had no idea why her husband had gone out so early. Wild solved that mystery by checking their phone. Edwin Causly had rung them around six that morning.
Olsen carefully folded Gordon Elleth’s coat and put it in a bag and then Wild sent Galloway upstairs on a fishing expedition. Mrs Elleth had a knack for making her feelings plain without raising her voice or blaspheming, but it cut no ice with Wild. His sympathy evaporated when he recalled the sight of Alexander Porter lying in a field, minus part of his cranium. Galloway completed his search and returned with a couple of bags of evidence, placing them to one side while he finished his tea and made a fuss of the dogs.
Wild stood up to marshal the troops. “It’s really important that we speak to your husband, Mrs Elleth. When he comes back, can you please get in touch or ask him to ring us?” He proffered a card. “Or he can come directly to Mayberry police station.”
She glanced at the card. “Mayberry? I thought that old place had already closed down.”
Galloway looked up from the Labradors. “It’s closing in the next few months and we’re moving to Gable Cross.” He said it with the wide-eyed enthusiasm that suggested she’d want to know. Her face told a different story.
She fussed with a teacup. “Well, just you make sure you bring our things back. And you take good care of that cross, Ben Galloway, or I’ll be having words with your uncle. Like the good book says: ‘And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me.’ Never you mind this heathen.” She looked directly at Wild.
“Thanks for your cooperation, Mrs Elleth. Marnie, Ben — we’re done here.”
Chapter 39
Galloway loaded up his car with the evidence. “What do you wanna do now, Skip?”
Wild shrugged. “They’re hardly going on the run. Suggestions?”
Galloway’s eyes shone, which told Wild something earnest but ridiculous was coming his way. “Maybe they’ve gone to seek sanctuary in a church.”
Wild killed that theory with a hard stare. Like that would make a difference. “Marnie?”
She thought for a moment, staring out across the fields. “There’ll be a purpose behind it. Could they know we’ve located Porter’s shotgun, proving someone else had to be present at his death?”
Wild smiled at we’ve when they all knew finding the weapon was Olsen’s doing. “You think perhaps they’ve returned to the scene of the crime? I can’t see any purpose in that.”
Olsen sighed heavily. “What links Elleth and Causly is their alibi.” She stared up at Wild so suddenly that he flinched. “The weakest part of that alibi is anyone else who was also at the George that night and could contradict it, for example the landlady.”
Wild scratched his chin. “It’s good enough for me. Ben, get the evidence back to the police station. Marnie, you’re with me. Call DI Marsh and tell her where we’re going.”
He didn’t have a lot to say in the car. One thing still made no sense. Why now? Why choose that morning to up sticks and go wandering, the very day they were coming to pick them both up?
For a fleeting moment he wondered if one of the team might have tipped Edwin Causly off. That didn’t ring true somehow, or Gordon Elleth would have taken his shotgun and cross with him if he had any sense. Maybe not a tip-off exactly then but some inkling that they were moving against Causly at least and maybe Elleth too.
“You’re awfully quiet, Wild.” Olsen watched the road as carefully as if she were the one driving. “Cat got your tongue?”
He smiled and then a creeping dread passed through him. It left doubt in its wake.
Wild’s car reached the George first. He recognised the two cars belonging to the suspects. It wasn’t difficult — the only other car belonged to the landlady. A sallow light lit up one of the backroom windows in the pub. He wanted to go in and make the arrests but Marsh had laid down the law. They were to wait until she arrived. He took it as one more slight against his character and parked across the two vehicles for good measure. Causly’s firearm had also been captured so he had no worries on that front. Now it was a waiting game.
He turned to Olsen, aware that an uncomfortable silence had settled on them. “You read any good books lately?”
She leant towards him. “Sorry?”
“Just making conversation.”
“No need to on my account, Wild.” She could see he was trying. “Frankenstein — by Mary Shelley.”
He nodded. “The one with the monster in it. Robert De Niro, wasn’t it? In the film, I mean.”
She brushed imaginary dust from her sleeve. “We don’t have to talk, you know.”
Marsh arrived with Sergeant Galloway and DC Harris. Wild figured the PCSO would have drawn the short straw as delivery girl. The presence of the two suspects’ cars did not seem to raise Marsh’s spirits. She looked — and sounded — pissed off.
“I don’t appreciate being given the runaround. Especially if I’ve had to get up early for the privilege. Sergeant Galloway and Marnie — side entrance. Wild, you’re with me at the front. Harris, stay here in case anyone else appears. So we’re all clear, two arrests and no messing about.”
Long Shadows Page 19