Realising the implications of what she had seen, Molly began to shake. The horror extended beyond the death of one old man. The victim might have been chosen simply because he was homeless and vulnerable, like Molly. Grabbing her bundle, she fled from Nether Hornpot Lane, resolving never to return. As she ran, she felt a surge of hatred for Baz. She and her mother had managed fine until he had come along to ruin their lives. Now, nowhere was safe. Sprinting out of the lane, she slowed down, her breath coming in painful gasps. Her mind was spinning, making it difficult to think clearly. Whatever happened, she could not report what she had seen to the police and risk them sending her home. It began to rain again and she took refuge in a doorway, shivering and crying. She was alone in the world and did not know what to do.
21
Jasper was already in trouble with his boss for having turned up half an hour after the restaurant opened on Saturday morning.
‘Consider this a warning,’ the boss had fumed. ‘You pull a stunt like that again, and you’ll be looking for another job. Now get to work, and you can make up the time at the end of your shift or you can walk out of here right now and don’t bother coming back.’
Jasper was pretty sure he could not be fired without due warning, and without the correct legal procedures being followed, but he was rattled all the same. He could not afford to upset the boss again, not so soon after a reprimand like that. As a result, he was up and out early the following morning, determined to set up before the boss arrived. Scurrying around the kitchen, he emptied the dishwasher and set out the menus. He even swept the floor again, although it was not necessary. The bins stood just outside the back door which opened into Nether Hornpot Lane. Emptying the rubbish, he almost stumbled over a figure lying on the step. The mound of fabric bore so little obvious relation to the shape of a human being that Jasper did not register straight away that a person was lying there, blocking his path. Just in time he stopped himself from tripping over.
‘Hey!’ he yelled, more in surprise than annoyance that anyone would be stupid enough to fall sleep on the step like that. ‘I nearly tripped over you, stupid git.’
He spat on the ground in disgust. There were too many homeless tramps sleeping on the streets, cluttering the place up and making it look lousy for tourists who made up the bulk of the restaurant’s customers. Shifting sideways, he stepped over the sleeper and shouted, but the man gave no sign that he had heard.
‘Hey! Get up. Move out of the way, will you?’
The man did not stir. Clearly he had drunk himself unconscious. It was beginning to drizzle and Jasper shivered, wondering what to do. He bent down, yelled right by the man’s ear, then grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. Still the man did not respond. Jasper tried to shift him and froze with one foot on either side of him as he caught a glimpse of the man’s face. The skin looked mottled and faintly blue on one side, although that could have been shadow, and the eyes were wide open, staring up at the sky. Only then did Jasper understand what he was dealing with. It occurred to him that he ought to call the police, but that would mean he would be questioned and the restaurant might be closed. The boss would be furious. He could just imagine what the boss would say if he brought this trouble to the business which was already struggling to survive.
‘Sorry, boss, I found a dead body out the back and had to close the restaurant while I waited around for the police to come and investigate.’
Some rough sleeper dropping dead in Nether Hornpot Lane was not his problem, unless he chose to become involved. He did not. Apart from his concerns over his job, the police were hardly his favourite people. Only a year ago he had been cautioned for brawling and had narrowly escaped being prosecuted for common assault. He had no wish to be involved with them again in any way. What he had chanced to find in the lane had nothing to do with him, and it was not his problem. The stiff was hardly hidden away. Someone else would be along the lane soon enough, and they could deal with this hobo who had probably drunk himself to death. Jasper was not about to risk losing his job over it. Clambering around the body, he hurried to the bins and was back inside with the back door shut before the boss arrived. They were busy at work that day, and Jasper soon forgot about the man on the step outside who had no doubt died of an overdose or alcohol poisoning.
Although he had no reason to keep away from the spot where he had stumbled on the body, Jasper avoided going out through the back exit when he left that evening. Not until the next morning did he cross the square, approaching the lane directly. He did his best to hide his agitation on seeing a white forensic tent, while the area at the entrance to Nether Hornpot Lane was cordoned off. The sight of two uniformed policemen standing guard outside a white van parked in the square, flanked by police cars, did nothing to calm his nerves. Seeing so much police activity, a horrible thought occurred to him. The man might not have been dead the previous morning. Perhaps if Jasper had summoned an ambulance straight away, the man’s life might have been saved. Dismissing the disturbing notion he hurried on his way, averting his eyes from the forensic tent hiding the body from view.
His shift was nearly over when the boss summoned him. Wiping his greasy hands on a cloth, he made his way to the small front desk where the waitress, Holly, was staring warily at a uniformed policewoman.
‘Jasper Parker?’
He nodded. Although he had done nothing wrong, he felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Whatever the police wanted, it could not be good news that they were interested in him.
‘We’d like you to accompany us, please,’ the policewoman said.
Involuntarily, Jasper took a step back, and a uniformed policeman moved to stand between him and the outer doorway. As if he was going to try and make a run for it.
‘What’s this about?’ he asked, speaking as calmly as he could.
To give himself time to think, he made a show of wiping his hands on the cloth he was holding. The police remained irritatingly vague in their answers, merely insisting they would like him to go with them to the police station to answer a few questions.
‘Do I have a choice?’ he grumbled. ‘Can I at least go and wash?’
‘You can leave your apron here,’ the boss said, holding out a hand in an impatient gesture.
It was humiliating, peeling off his greasy blue apron in front of the boss, Holly and the police officers, but he made the best of it.
‘This must be a mistake,’ he muttered. ‘There’s no reason why the police could possibly be interested in me.’
Holly was watching him, her blue eyes wide with alarm.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her, ‘this is all a mistake. I haven’t done anything.’
She lowered her gaze and stood staring at her feet, blushing faintly.
Jasper turned to the boss. ‘See you later,’ he said with a show of confidence. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
The boss’s beady eyes seemed to burn with rage, and Jasper could almost hear him thinking, ‘You’re nothing but trouble, Jasper Parker. I should never have given you a second chance.’
That was not fair, any more than it was fair for the police to turn up and insist on dragging him off to the police station. Jasper had done nothing wrong, and he was a good worker. Admittedly, he was occasionally hungover on a Sunday morning, but that was hardly a serious offence.
Miserably he handed his apron to the boss. ‘See you later,’ he repeated, doing his best to sound cheerful. ‘Come on, then,’ he said to the police. ‘I’m ready. But I’m telling you, this is all a mistake. I haven’t done anything.’
Actually, he was far from ready to go with them, but he could hardly refuse their request that he accompany them to the police station.
22
The implications of the second murder were not lost on anyone. Two rough sleepers had been killed in less than two weeks. With a sinking feeling, Geraldine followed Ariadne into the incident room where the detectiv
e chief inspector was waiting to address them.
‘This is a tragedy for the victim, and his loved ones,’ Eileen said.
‘If he had any,’ someone muttered.
Ignoring the interruption, Eileen continued.
‘It’s a tragedy on a personal level, as any murder is, but we must also all be aware that this places us under additional scrutiny. People are bound to be asking how this could have happened again, so soon after the first fatality, and in almost the exact same location. This isn’t the nineteenth century. We have officers on patrol, we have security cameras, SOCOs and pathology labs. The forensic tent hasn’t yet been taken down from the last crime scene and already we’re dealing with another one.’ She was almost incoherent in her indignation. ‘The morning papers are accusing us of negligence on account of the first victim being homeless and disenfranchised. We know that’s a load of bunkum, but more accusations are inevitably going to follow, and we have to maintain a dignified and united message that these murders are being meticulously pursued. Our procedures will be open to appropriate scrutiny and in the meantime we must ignore all the fuss and flapping in the media and get on with the job. I know I can rely on every one of you to carry out your allotted tasks with your customary professional commitment.’
Geraldine zoned out of the pep talk, and stared at images of the second tramp which had been posted on the wall behind Eileen. He looked elderly and frail, and was unnaturally pale, even for a corpse. His cheeks were sunken, as though he had lost all his teeth, and marked with liver spots. There was something painfully pathetic in his frailty, as though he had only been clinging on to life by a tenuous breath anyway. How clumsy and pointless it seemed that someone had snuffed out that feeble existence.
‘Really, what is the point of all this?’ she muttered.
Eileen glared at her. ‘The point is that a man has been murdered, and we need to find the killer. The point is that justice must be served regardless of the circumstances of the victim.’
‘Yes, of course, I know, I know,’ Geraldine replied, returning Eileen’s glare. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Good.’
Geraldine was glad she had not been challenged to explain exactly what she had meant. It was too complicated, and too depressing, to try and explain that if an old man’s death seemed pointless, that only served to highlight the meaninglessness of life itself. In any case, this was no time to indulge in existential angst. A suspect had been brought in for questioning.
Behind his bravado, the young man looked frightened as he faced Geraldine and Ian across the table. That was not necessarily significant. Many people were intimidated by the police, and he had been arrested before. He was in his early twenties, with light brown hair and dark eyes that blinked frequently, never quite meeting Geraldine’s gaze.
‘What’s this all about then?’ he demanded loudly, before she had said a word.
Instead of answering, Geraldine and Ian sat in silence and let him talk. People sometimes let things slip in an unguarded moment when they were given free rein to rant. Geraldine listened closely as indignation intermittently overwhelmed his attempt to sound reasonable.
‘I can tell you, I don’t take kindly to being dragged out of work for no reason and brought here to answer your questions without being told what’s going on. If you’d like to tell me what you want with me, I’m sure we can clear up this misunderstanding without too much trouble. But you had no business coming to get me from work. I can’t imagine what the hell my boss is going to think. So let’s get this sorted out, shall we? I don’t intend to stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary.’
For the most part Jasper’s words sounded rational enough, but his expression was tense and he fidgeted constantly with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. At last, after a great deal of posturing, he fell silent.
‘A man was discovered on a doorstep in Nether Hornpot Lane yesterday morning,’ Geraldine said softly.
‘Well?’ Jasper butted in, a little too promptly. ‘What’s that got to do with me? You still haven’t told me what I’m doing here. Am I being charged with something? Because if not, I’d like to leave right now. I’m an innocent man. I’m not obliged to sit here and listen to your crap.’ He leaned forward and added plaintively, ‘You know this could cost me my job.’
‘Yesterday morning a man was discovered on a doorstep in Nether Hornpot Lane, behind the restaurant where you work in Back Swinegate,’ Geraldine said. This time she added, ‘He was dead.’
For a second, they were all silent while he digested this.
‘Who was he?’ Jasper asked at last. ‘Was it someone I know? Is that why you brought me here?’
‘We’re hoping you’ll be able to tell us what happened to him,’ she replied.
Registering the implications of her words, Jasper straightened up almost imperceptibly in his chair and scowled.
‘I don’t know what makes you think I might know anything about this.’
‘We have evidence that places you at the scene,’ she said quietly.
‘What evidence? That’s bullshit. You can’t prove I was there, just because I happen to walk along that stretch of pavement on my way to work every day. So what? And yes, I was accused of assault last year – a charge that didn’t stick – but that was a fight in a pub and it wasn’t my fault. I was the victim. And that’s got nothing to do with any of this. So if you think you can frame me for –’ he paused, his eyes glaring wildly at her. ‘I’m not saying another word until I have a lawyer.’
‘We can arrange that for you, if you like.’
‘Good. Yes, I demand to have a lawyer.’
Ian nodded and Geraldine followed him out of the room.
‘Do you think he’s hiding something?’ she asked Ian.
‘He certainly looked nervous,’ he replied. ‘Not that that means anything.’
‘No, it doesn’t mean he’s guilty of murder.’
Jasper was left with a uniformed constable for company while the duty brief was summoned. Eventually he arrived, a slick young lawyer with black hair and very thick eyebrows from beneath which his narrow eyes peered at Geraldine and Ian.
As soon as Geraldine began to question Jasper, the lawyer interrupted her.
‘Has my client been charged?’
‘No,’ Geraldine replied.
‘Not yet,’ Ian added.
The lawyer turned to Ian, his thick eyebrows lowered in a frown. ‘I must protest at this clear attempt to intimidate my client –’
‘We have evidence that places him at a crime scene,’ Ian said. ‘We can charge your client now, or he might prefer us to hear what he has to say first.’
‘A crime scene?’ the lawyer repeated with a note of scepticism in his voice.
Geraldine was mesmerised by his eyebrows, one of which had risen quizzically as he challenged Ian.
‘A murder,’ Ian said.
Jasper half rose to his feet, and Geraldine noticed he had begun to sweat.
‘No,’ he spluttered. ‘That’s bullshit. I wasn’t involved in any murder. I don’t know what the hell you’re on about but you can’t pin this on me.’ He turned to the lawyer. ‘They haven’t got anything on me. They’re bluffing. This is bullshit. I want to go home.’
The lawyer nodded. ‘My client denies any knowledge of the crime he is alleged to be implicated in.’
‘We have evidence which places him at the scene,’ Ian repeated calmly.
‘What evidence?’
Geraldine explained that Jasper had left a sample of his DNA on the body.
‘What are you talking about? I never touched him!’ Jasper blurted out. ‘I never touched anyone,’ he corrected himself, glancing frantically at the lawyer. ‘This is bullshit.’
‘Left a sample of his DNA?’ the lawyer queried. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’
‘He appears to have spat on the body,’ Geraldine explained.
Jasper shook his head, momentarily unable to speak.
‘I may have spat on the pavement. I walk along there every day. But that’s not a crime, is it?’
‘Would you like to start telling us the whole truth?’ Ian asked. ‘Because when you spat on the pavement, a few drops of your saliva landed on a dead body.’
‘If you lie about it, that won’t help you,’ Geraldine said. ‘We know you were there when he died.’
‘Or after he died,’ the lawyer pointed out quickly. ‘And my client has already told you he did not see the body.’
Jasper stared, aghast, from Geraldine to Ian and back again, before turning to the lawyer and grabbing him by the arm.
‘Get me out of here,’ he muttered in a panic. ‘This is bullshit. Get me out of here. I never touched the guy. I spat on the pavement, that’s all. I knew someone would be along soon and I couldn’t – I didn’t – I couldn’t be late for work. So I just left the stiff for someone else to find. But I didn’t kill him, I swear I didn’t. He was already dead when I saw him.’
It was concerning that another tramp had been killed so soon after Bingo’s murder. They had all seen photographs of the second victim. In a ripped and filthy long coat, if anything he had looked even dirtier than Bingo. Unshaven and unkempt, there seemed little doubt that he was homeless. At this point the lawyer stood up, insisting he needed to speak to his client, and they had to take a break.
‘This does raise the question of whether Jasper could have killed Bingo as well,’ Geraldine said. ‘Because if he killed one tramp, he might have killed both.’
‘Yes. It’s a bit too much of a coincidence otherwise, isn’t it?’ Eileen agreed.
Ian nodded at Geraldine. ‘You never believed Tommy’s confession, did you?’
She frowned. She had not told anyone about her scepticism over Tommy’s guilt.
‘What makes you think that?’ she asked.
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
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